


Sunshine on My Shoulders

by Webhoard



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hangover, Hospitals, Hurt/Comfort, John Denver - Freeform, Major Character Injury, Massage, but not the creepy kind, carousel horses, drink responsibly folks, i mean someone could be afraid of them, tony making nicknames constantly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-11
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 01:17:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12694050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Webhoard/pseuds/Webhoard
Summary: Who knew that a hangover could be a good thing? It helped you get closer to Sam, even though you've still got some reservations about that. But when a mission gone wrong threatens to disrupt your developing romance, you and the team do everything you can to save him.Final part uploaded, Dec. 18.Work is complete!





	1. Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the following dialogue prompt: “Kill me please. I can’t live like this.” | “You know I can’t.” | “And they call you a hero.” Reader has a horrible hangover, and even though Sam likes to tease her, he has healing hands, and he’s more than willing to use them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got inspiration for this before going to day drink with a friend, and I wrote while nursing a mild hangover yesterday morning. Lol, don’t worry though, my hangover was not even close to being as bad as this. Drink plenty of water before, during, and after you booze it up. [Link to the prompt.](https://if-we-re-talking-stories.tumblr.com/post/167308315660/kill-me-please-i-cant-live-like-this-you)

The sunlight was so incredibly bright, stinging your eyes and causing you to squint, and your ball cap felt too tight, creating too much pressure around your head. You were walking along a sun-bleached beach, a boardwalk bordering the sandy fringe. You could hear the ocean roaring in the distance. Between the squinting and the tight hat, you were beginning to feel a headache coming on. Your mouth was uncomfortably dry. You needed to get some water. 

You walked up to a concession stand, but there were no workers present. You could see the large metal basin in the back, brimming with gleaming blue bottles of water and ice. The ice was melting around them, and rivulets of condensation ran down the length of the exposed plastic of the bottles. Maybe you could just go grab a few ice cubes from the cooler, or maybe you could dip your hands into the ice-melt and take a few sips. You would give anything to wet your tongue. 

Sam took you by the arm steering you away from the concession stand, away from the oasis surrounded by the blindingly white sand. Wait. When did Sam get here? Oh well, he must have been here all along. He gave you a smile and continued to lead you blindly down the boardwalk. In an instant, you found yourself in front of a carousel. How had you gotten there so fast?

The horses and their saddles were painted in garish bright hues, and lights of all colors gleamed from every surface of the contraption. The lights were too bright to look at. Your headache was getting worse. 

“C’mon, A/N.” Sam said. “Ride the carousel with me.”

“I don’t feel good. I need some water.”

Sam laughed, his teeth gleaming too brightly. “Silly, the ocean’s right over there.”

What? It didn’t make sense in your mind, but you shrugged, accepting his logic. 

You climbed on a dapple grey horse with a saddle of chartreuse and an array of colored lights and ornaments that would have made a Lisa Frank folder look drab. Sam clambered on behind you, wrapping his warm arms around your middle. His hot breath brushed the back of your neck. Despite the thrill that ran through you, the heat rolling off him was too much. The day was already sweltering and sticky, and the carousel was emitting muggy exhaust as it began to move, a tinny melody ringing out. 

The carousel spun just a little too fast as the horse moved gently up and down. You could feel yourself quickly becoming dizzy with every lull and rise and fall of the horse and every revolution you and Sam made around the circuit. It was too hot. The music was too loud. Sam’s arms were too sweaty and too tightly gripped around your middle. The horse was rising and falling too suddenly. The carousel whirled too fast. The carnival music sounded more and more like a siren. Your ears could not find equilibrium, and your head was pounding, and your stomach gave a lurch. And the music like alarms…

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

You slammed your fist down onto the offending clock, hissing as the movement made your head spin, causing a wave of nausea roll over you. You lay still as you tried to regain a feeling of calm. You used your fingers to block out the light pouring in through your windows. They felt cool against your flushed and sweaty forehead. 

Images of the previous night flitted through your head. Your best friend. Tequila. Beer. Bourbon. Ugh, had you really drunk Drambuie? Laughing. Staggering. Collapsing into bed. Eventually, the roiling in your stomach seemed to have calmed as you slowly lifted your head to see what time it was. 

You barely had time to register that it was 5:30am before you realized your error in attempting to move. Your stomach twisted uncomfortably in your gut as you launched yourself out of bed toward your bathroom. Ripping open the toilet lid, you wretched violently into the porcelain bowl. Nothing came out but yellow bile and stomach acid, which burned your throat as you heaved a few more times. Sweat was beading down your forehead and upper lip as you shakily reached for the faucet handles, splashing the cool water onto your face and drinking more deeply than was wise, considering the sensitive state of your stomach. 

After popping several ibuprofen with a generous swig of water, you shuffled back into your bedroom, shutting the curtains that never should have been left open. You crawled into bed, careful not to jostle your head or your stomach along the way, before drifting into a death-like sleep. 

When you finally awoke, it was just past nine o’clock. You still felt heavy, bloated, dizzy, and achy. But you also felt a bit more human. You drank several cups of water before practically cooking yourself in a steamy shower, letting the heat relax your muscles and the steam to clear your lungs and sinuses. When you looked at yourself in the steamy mirror, you were not surprised by the reflection that greeted you. Your skin had an unpleasant hue to it, your face was drawn, and as the great James Herriot once wrote, your eyes looked like two pissholes in the snow. 

Within an hour you finally felt cleansed enough to make your way into the kitchen, even if you still felt like you might throw up. Clint and Natasha were sitting close on one of the couches in the living area, reading on their tablets while Bucky, Sam, and Steve, were eating breakfast, no doubt having spent the morning training and exercising. 

Your headache, shoulder pain, nausea, and dizziness drowned out any pangs of guilt you might have felt at missing a training session, especially one with Sam. 

Steve and Bucky greeted you with wordless smiles and head nods. From Steve’s part, you knew he was being sensitive, and Bucky was, well just being his usual reserved self. Sam, however, had a glint in his eyes that said he’d not treat you with such delicacy.

“Well, g’mornin’ there Sunshine,” Sam called to you with far too much volume and mocking enthusiasm. 

Peeking out from your hooded eyelids, you groaned and whispered, “Please, not so loud. My head…” you trailed off, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Quietly, Sam began to whisper-sing “Sunshine on my shoulders, makes me happy…” as he spread a generous pat of butter on his bagel, smiling devilishly as he continued to sing, humming the words he couldn’t remember.

Steve smiled and shook his head as he took another drink of his coffee, asking, “So, Y/N what exactly did you get up last night. I don’t think I heard you come in.”

Gripping your chin and giving your neck a tooth rattling crack, you poured your coffee. You sat down next to Steve across from Bucky and Sam, the latter of whom waggled his eye brows suggestively at you.

“Ha ha,” you stated humorlessly at Sam, blowing on your steamy mug, “My best friend, Masha from back home is visiting New York. Yesterday evening, I picked her up from the airport, and we went out to catch up. And we drank…” You shuddered slightly, “all night.” 

Sam, ever the tease, piped up, fanning you with his hand, “Yeah, I’ll say. I think I’m getting a buzz from the tequila vapors coming off you.”

You groaned into your coffee with a queasy feeling, “I will throw up on your bagel.”

“I know for a fact that you would never defile a bagel like that.” He laughed as he took a big bite, his deep brown eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lights, making your brain blank out temporarily. 

“Anyway,” you managed to speak again, “We’ve known each other since we were kids, so it’s nice getting to see her, even if I can’t actually remember much from last night.” You muttered, gripping your forehead as the drumming that had abated after a few sips of coffee returned with renewed vigor. You groaned into your mug again.

You must have been so mentally immersed in staring into your coffee that you didn’t notice that Bucky and Steve had left you and Sam sitting at the table. Looking up, you found Sam’s eyes, staring into your bloodshot ones, a toothy grin still fixed on his mouth. 

Maybe it was the hangover clouding your mental faculties, but you were momentarily dazed by his smile. You couldn’t help but stare at him, the little gap in his teeth, the way you could get lost in his eye for hours. Despite the whirling sensation in your head, you felt grounded by his gaze. But the feeling was fleeting as the dizziness and achiness soon stole your attention back.

“Ughh,” you groaned out, resting your head on the cool granite table top. 

“You really got a bad one, huh, Sunshine?” Your stomach gave a flip at his use of the new nickname, only this time your stomach felt light rather than sick.

“I thought that much was obvious, and why do you keep calling me ‘Sunshine’?” You asked, not lifting your head from the table.

“I thought that much was obvious,” he parroted your words at you. You could hear a smile in his voice, “I’m being ironic.”

Rather than responding, you lifted your head and took another deep gulp of coffee, clutching your head as if to keep it from spinning in circles. 

You must have looked as bad as you felt because Sam finally dropped the sarcasm as he looked at you and sincerely said, “Can I do anything to make you feel better?” 

But you couldn’t help but joke back at him, “Yeah, you can **kill me please. I can’t live like this**.” 

Sam let a reluctant smile grace his features as he responded in reciprocal humor, “ **You know I can’t**.”

You smiled as best as you could through the hangover, “ **And they call you a hero**.”

Sam let out a laugh at that, too loud at first, but he quickly tempered his volume before standing from his seat and moving to your side of the table, pulling up what had been Steve’s seat next to you. “I may not be one of those ‘angel of mercy’ nurses, but I do have healing hands, if you’ll allow me…”

“What are you on about, Sam?” You barely finished your question when Sam tangled his fingers into your hair, rubbing and gently scratching your scalp. Tingling relief washed down your head to the base of your neck and down your spine as Sam let his hands begin to work their magic. You turned your back to him to allow him better access, as well as to hide your face, which would no doubt betray your breathless excitement one way or another. 

It was hard to tell if you were feeling better because your coffee and painkillers were finally kicking in, because Sam’s hands really were those of a ‘healer,’ or if it was just the feeling of closeness to him. Flashes of your uncomfortable dream passed through your mind as you leaned into his touch more. Even though the dream had been nothing more than the product of your fevered and slightly poisoned body and mind, you could almost feel Sam’s arms wrapping around you from behind. You could almost feel his hands on your waist. But these were just passing fancies that could not compare to the feeling of his hands which were now beginning to massage your shoulders, drifting lower till one of them was working on a knot in the middle of your back. 

As he dug one of his thumbs into the knot, you could not stop a lewd sounding moan from escaping. It hurt so good. You could have crawled into a hole at that moment, but Sam just let out a low chuckle, “Well at least I know I’m appreciated.”

His hands moved back your shoulders, but the pressure was lessened to the point that he was no longer really massaging you, just gently stroking small circles into your skin. His warm breath tickled the back of your neck, raising goosebumps on your shoulders and arms. And even though the moment was slightly tainted by the ill effects of your hangover, you never wanted it to end. You wanted to live in this sensation of his hands on your skin, his body’s warmth radiating so that you could feel it even through your sweater, the feeling of some sort of connection with him. You were beginning to find it difficult to draw the line between what you had dreamed and what was actually happening now, the difference being that your dream had been filled with anxiety and reality was making you feel lighter than air.

Finally, Sam’s hands stilled on your shoulders as he softly asked, “Did that, uh, do you feel any better?”

You turned in your seat to face him. One of his hands was still on your shoulder. You weren’t sure you could remember how to speak, but you managed to find your voice for a moment, “Healer’s hands, indeed.”

He responded with a small smile, his eyes boring into yours with an intensity you’d never seen before. His thumb, whether by his volition or its own, gently, almost not noticeably stroked the skin just above the neckline of your sweater. Did his eyes just flit to your lips? Your breathing hitched when he did it again. You were both frozen in this moment, neither willing to take a leap.

The loud squeaking of the leather couch in the other room, broke whatever spell you both had been under. Sam’s hand dropped to his lap, and you turned back to your coffee and hangover. Natasha gave you a knowing look as she entered the kitchen to get a refill on her coffee, making you cringe inwardly. How much had she seen? Looking at her eyes, again, you knew she’d seen enough.

“Well,” you said, getting up from the table and out of this awkward situation, “I’d better go get ready. I’m meeting Masha for lunch and then taking her sightseeing.”

Sam, seeming to regain his senses, said jokingly as you made your way toward the hall, “Well, careful what drink at lunch. No hair of the dog.”

You had no witty comeback, so you just turned and gave him a sarcastic smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will have maybe 2-3 parts total? Also, the song Sam is singing is [“Sunshine on My Shoulders”](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diwuu_r6GJE) by John Denver, hence the fic title…it’s also actually a great song. Next part will be up………sometime.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things heat up between you and Sam, but it’s not smooth sailing yet. Some people from Tony and Bucky’s past decide to start fucking with things. Sorry not sorry for this lame chapter summary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might have been more than slightly influenced by iZombie’s season 2 story arc here and stole a few sciencey lines (S2E14). #NoShame. Also, I don’t know jack shit about virus or computers, so the computer stuff later in this part may be complete bullshit.

“You’re not getting off the hook that easily!” Masha exclaimed enthusiastically, taking a large swig of her mimosa. “Why is this the first time I’m hearing about you and Sam? And a massage? That’s not nothing.”

“Masha, please. Besides there’s no ‘me and Sam’,” you grumbled, clutching your head with one hand while the other dumped even more hot sauce into your bloody mary.

“You know, no amount of capsaicin is going to undo any damage to your liver,” she stated flatly, looking you in the eye with a knowingly. 

“Yeah? Well, neither will orange juice. Ugh, I guess I haven’t said anything because, well, I dunno.” You took a gulp, relishing in the ice cold heat that made its way down to the center of your stomach, where it settled warmly. “I mean, we work together. Been there, done that, and it’s not something I’m looking to repeat. So I didn’t say anything because I thought I’d just get over it because I probably should. Y’know?”

Masha had known you almost your whole life. She had been there for every new relationship and every inevitable break-up. Your last serious relationship had been several years ago with a coworker at your regional branch of the FBI, and, well, let’s just say it had ended poorly: with the ex retiring early to open a pottery studio in Honolulu and you moving halfway across the country to join Shield in New York, and eventually the Avengers. And even half and ocean and entire continent was not enough space between you two.

Masha chewed her lip, “Ok ok, I get it. But you should know that not everyone is like—”

“Don’t you say that name” You cut her off. “And besides, I know that already. Sam’s a good guy, a great guy, hell, he’s damn near perfect, but…if something did happen and it ended badly, where am I gonna move next? The top of Mt. Everest?”

“Now you’re just being dramatic. You work together, I know, and that can get messy.” Masha nibbled thoughtfully on her sandwich, “but you have to admit that your dating life has stagnated since you moved here. You’re in a huge city and you have yet to find even one person whom you can even remotely relate to.”

“Being an Avenger does make dating a bit hard. But who cares?”

“You’re a strong independent woman and you don’t need romance to feel fulfilled in life?” Masha finished for you, giving you one of her knowing looks, the kind of look that reminded you that she knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. Taking your shrugged shoulders as a confirmation, she continued cautiously, “I know you don’t _need_ someone, Y/N, but it’s okay to just want someone, and if he’s even half as handsome in person as he is on TV, I think you should at least allow yourself a night or two of fun.” She smiled suggestively at you, making you roll your eyes. 

“He is so fucking hot!” You finally gushed before adding more soberly, “I’m just gonna play this one close to the cuff. Not only do I not want to mess up my friendship with him, I definitely do not want to jeopardize my position with the Avengers.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, you don’t need to worry about the first thing. Because if that massage was just platonic, I’ll jump in the Hudson.”

“I hope you know I will absolutely hold you to that.” You laughed. “Ok, but enough about my love life or lack thereof. I think you told me about your promotion last night? But I really can’t actually remember anything we ‘caught up’ on.”

“Yeah, it’s just a long, loud blur.” She smiled at you as the two of you fell into other topics of conversation, catching up on all the catching up that had been forgotten from the previous night.

* * *

It was well past midnight by the time you got back to the tower, although this time you were barely even buzzed. Masha and you had decided to go easy on the drinks after an entire day out in the sun, sweating and sightseeing. 

You tried to keep quiet as the elevator doors opened to the common area, assuming that everyone would be asleep by now. Instead you ran almost face first into Tony’s chest.

“Whoa, easy there, you lush.” Tony exclaimed, signature smirk on his face.

“Ha ha. I’m not even a little drunk tonight.” You peered around his shoulder, seeing Steve, Wanda, and Clint standing around a table speaking in low voices, waving their fingers furiously over a tablet, while Natasha and Bucky were just starting to make their way down the hall to their respective rooms. 

“What’s going on?” You asked Tony, as the rest looked up to see who was coming in.

Steve was the first to respond, “We’re leaving on a mission. There was break-in at the R&D lab for A.G. Barr outside Glasgow, just after 0600 local time. It’s the parent company of Irn-Bru, you know, that weird energy drink Maria Hill’s always drinking. Anyway, one of the leading researchers, Dr. Bridget Hearn, was taken.” His face was a set in a frown. “We think it may have been a Hydra cell.”

You felt a twinge of guilt creep down the back of your neck. Here your teammates were, preparing for an emergency mission, and you’d been looking at Lady Liberty snow globes and other such kitsch all afternoon before enjoying Manhattan’s nightlife. 

“Anything I can do to help out?” You asked somewhat lamely. 

Tony patted your back, “We wouldn’t have dared call you on your time off. Don’t worry about it, Sunshine.” He cocked his brow at you as the elevator doors closed, a shit eating grin plastered on his face. You didn’t like where that was headed.

Steve, seeming to sense your guilt was quick to interject, “You don’t need to do anything. Tony said you put in for time off weeks ago, so don’t feel guilty that you’ve actually been enjoying it.” You didn’t look or feel convinced. “Truly. We’ve got this. We’re just waiting on Sam before we leave. Shouldn’t be gone more than a couple days. Nat and Bucky can give you the rundown in the morning if it’ll make you feel better.”

You’d be lying to yourself if you said you didn’t feel an immediate sinking sensation in your stomach when Steve said Sam’s name, but you brushed it off as best as you could. “Ok, I’ll be sure to hit them up. And if yall need anything at all, I may be on vacation, but I’m only a phone call away.”

Steve gave you a reassuring smile and a firm squeeze of the shoulder before turning back to Wanda and Clint to finish strategizing for the mission.

You made your way down the hall toward Sam’s room, rather than your own. His door was open, and you could hear him shuffling around and mumbling to himself. A small smile crept its way onto your face at hearing him run through his mental packing list. You quietly leant against the door frame, not wanting to derail his train of thought. 

“…three pairs of boxers, four sets of socks, tactical pants, a couple t-shirts, all my gear’s in the jet already. Shit. What am I forgetting?”

“Did you remember your phone charger?”

Sam startled slightly, before turning to you, “It was the first thing I laid out. Wouldn’t want a repeat of last time, would I?”

You laughed softly, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Clint would just throw your phone out a window this time and call it good.” He rolled his eyes at you playfully before turning back to his organized stacks of clothes and toiletries. 

“I know I’m forgetting something,” he groaned, running his hands down his cheeks in exasperation. “Can you help a guy out?” He asked, that twinkle returning to his eyes. 

As if you could ever say no his beautiful face. “PJs?”

“Check.”

“Body lotion?”

“Check.”

“Toothbrush and toothpaste?”

“Check and check.”

You quickly ran through the items you’d overheard him saying in your mind, before you smiled in what you hoped was success. “Your deodorant?”

“That’s it!” Sam leapt up from his bed and into his bathroom, emerging with his deodorant in hand. “Ah, can you imagine if I’d forgotten this? You’re a life saver.”

You laughed, “Quite literally. I think they might have chucked you out of the jet if you were stinking the whole place up after a kickin' ass and takin’ names.”

“Ha, got no time for takin’ names, sweetheart,” he laughed over his shoulder as he hastily packed everything into his duffel with the efficiency that only someone from the military could possess. 

You did a mental double take, making sure you had actually heard what you thought you’d heard. Caught up in the moment, you found yourself completely ignoring your previous reservations regarding office romances. “Sweetheart? I thought I was Sunshine to you?” You cocked your head to the side, hoping that you looked coquettish and alluring.

He returned your look with one of his own, a look that made your heart flutter and desire warm you to your core. “Well I was given the impression that you didn’t much care for it this morning.” He said, picking up his duffel and coming toward you still leaning on the door. 

He was now standing in front of you, just a tad too close. You tried to play it cool, “Well, in my defense, I was pretty sure I might yarf on the kitchen table, so I wasn’t in the best frame of mind.”

He smiled a toothy smile, shaking his head at your words. “Would it be mean if I said your hangover was worth it because I finally got the chance to highlight my skills for you.” He held up his free hand, waving his fingers slightly, his flirty grin not reaching his eyes, which held yours captive.

Your feet felt heavy, your head light, and where your brain had ceased to function, your body took command. He was standing so close now that his chest was brushing against yours, and you reached up to place your hands on his smooth muscled torso, leaning your face ever so slightly toward his.

You heard his bag land with a soft plunk next to his feet. You felt his hand come to rest just above your hipbone while the other wound its way behind your neck, fingers ever so softly grazing your skin. You felt goosebumps form down your neck, across your shoulders, and along your arms and back. You could feel his warmth on your lips and hear his breathing suddenly hitch. You felt his nose softly bump yours before his lips finally, finally, brushed against your own. His lips were soft, his breath minty and with a flavor all his own, his fingers gentle. You leaned into the kiss, your lips gliding over his.

“Sam! Did you die in there?” Clint’s voice rang through the hall behind you. His lips parted from yours. You couldn’t keep yourself from letting out an audible groan.

Sam leaned his head back before yelling his response, “Be right there. I couldn’t find my deodorant.”

“Ok, smelly. We’ll be in the hangar prepping the quinjet.”

Sam huffed out a laugh, resting his forehead against yours, his fingers now firmly gripping your waist, his eyes closed tight. “I gotta go.”

Still feeling breathless and more than a little disappointed at being interrupted, you gave his arm a squeeze. “I know, I know, go be a hero, save the world,” you whispered back.

He gave a resigned sigh that would have made Atlas proud. “It’s my sacred duty, after all.”

You laughed and pushed him back, “Drama queen.”

He picked up his duffel and made his way into the hall, looking back at you, “We’ll, uh, let’s pick up where we left off when I get back, yeah?”

“I wouldn’t dream of doing any less.” You smiled through the falling sensation that now threatened to ruin the absolute lightness his lips had imbued in you. 

The boyish smile that burst onto his face was almost enough to dispel those thoughts, “Don’t worry, Sunshine. I’ll be back before you know it.”

He took three steps down the hall, stopped, turned on his heel, and returned to you in one long stride. He cupped your cheek with his free hand and pressed a firm, almost hungry kiss to your lips before pulling away, a strange look in his eyes. Without uttering a syllable he spun back around and made his way down the hall, leaving you still standing in his doorway, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions running relays in your mind.

It looked like Masha wouldn’t be jumping in the Hudson after all.

* * *

‘A couple days’ and ‘back before you know it’ slowly, painstakingly so, morphed into what was now thirteen days. 

At first when they had left, you enjoyed the few days that remained of Masha’s stay. With her there to distract you, your sister from another mister, you found it easy to ignore your darker thoughts and the weight you felt in your chest when they didn’t return on time. After all, it was far from rare that a mission might drag on an extra day or two. But when you finally hugged Masha goodbye at the airport security line, your heart finally finished sinking into the pit of your stomach. What was taking them so long? When you got back to the compound that afternoon, two days past their expected return, you immediately returned to work, catching up on all the details you had missed in previous few days.

You weren’t the only one worried about the slow progress of the mission. Natasha stepped in as back up. Her ability to slip undercover and gather intel from the field was apparently more needed than originally thought. 

Tony, Bucky, and you meanwhile had been burning the candle at both ends back at the tower, researching every detail of the Dr. Hearn’s life and work but finding absolutely nothing of note in the process. There just had to be a connection between her and Hydra, why else would they have gone after a researcher at a soft drinks company? And more importantly which cell had taken her?

Most of her current research at A.G. Barr was top secret, and getting relevant information from the company reps was proving to be rather difficult. While they were keen to get one of their top researchers back, as well as her notebooks that Hydra had also taken, they were less than forthcoming about the details of her research and her tenure there. All that the three of you had been able to find out so far was that she had been leading the research for a new energy drink formula, one that promised to change the face of energy drinks as the world knew it. It promised boundless energy and increased strength with no crash. You couldn’t escape the tingling sense that there was darker behind her work.

At the moment, Bucky was getting the latest mission report from Steve while you and Tony were attempting to hack into the company’s private servers, a risky venture since it could land you both in a heap of legal trouble. 

You sat up from your seat, stretching as if your life depended on it. “I’m gonna make another pot of coffee, Tony. Need a refill?”

“You read my mind, Sunshine.” Tony said, smirking up at you.

“Tony…” you growled in a warning tone.

“What? Why should Sam have a patent on that nickname?” Tony cried in mock outrage. You just rolled your eyes at him. Huffing slightly, he continued, “Besides, I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why he chooses to call you ‘Sunshine.’ I personally think ‘Stormcloud’ or ‘Grumpy Fog’ would better suit you.”

Even though you wanted to frown, you couldn’t and before you could stop it, a sudden laugh escaped your lips, “You’re such an ass, Tony.”

“You know you love me.”

“I’d be lost without you,” you called over your shoulder as you made your way to the kitchen, where Bucky was finishing up his phone call with Steve. 

“…let us know when you’ve got more info…I know…ok, Steve…I’m hanging up now.” And with a swipe of his finger, Bucky hung up the phone, rubbing his chin with his flesh hand as he set it down.

You gave him what you hoped was a reassuring look. “Coffee?”

“Nah, the last thing I need at this point is the jitters.” He gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “When you get the pot on, come back out. I can debrief you and Tony while it’s brewing.”

You nodded, and quickly set to work on the coffee before heading back to the common area, French press in hand, where you three had set up an impromptu workspace the week prior.

Tony was still pecking away at his keyboard, muttering commands at FRIDAY every now and then. Bucky cleared his throat before speaking. “Steve and the team have gotten nothing in the past two days. Wanda tried getting information from Dr. Hearn’s supervisor, but her mind was like a fortress. Wanda couldn’t get anything. Natasha’s working a new lead though. Apparently there is a disgruntled ex-employee whom Hearn replaced. Nat’s hoping he might be angry enough to break his NDA.” Bucky paused for a moment, giving Tony a pointed look, a look that went unnoticed as Tony’s attention still seemed to be directed at his computer screens. “But we cannot hope to get anywhere unless we are able to dig into Hearn’s past. And what I’m getting at is this, have either of you made any progress on getting into A.G. Barr’s private servers?”

As if by serendipity, Tony leapt up from his chair and gave a slight, ‘Wee!’, a triumphant smile firmly planted on his face.

“Did you get in?!” you exclaimed from sheer shock. You and he had been trying to find a way around their firewalls since yesterday morning.

“You bet I did! King Priam would weep at my victory.” Tony’s smile fell as he took in the blank looks on yours and Bucky’s faces. “King Priam, The Iliad?” He looked almost offended, “Am I the only one reading the classics around here? The fall of Troy, you know with the wooden horse.”

You and Bucky both softly let out a simultaneous, “Ohhh.”

“I used a simple Trojan horse virus to get into their system. It was so old fashioned and such an obvious vulnerability that they never even bothered with protecting against an attack like that. Probably counting on basement-dwelling hackers skirting right over it.”

“Well let’s see what we can find about Hearn. Tony, why don’t you focus on her looking into her research there, Bucky can look through her personnel files, and I’ll try to find her CV and intake forms to see if there’s any leads in her past.” You poured a large cup of coffee from the press that had clearly steeped for far too long, grimacing at the acidic flavor.

You skimmed through her CV, spotting a few suspicious lines that mentioned previous work. “It says here that she did some work for the Russian military back in the 90s, though it’s a bit vague. Doesn’t even say what branch.” Tony and Bucky looked up, hoping for more. “She was researching endocrine systems, specifically ‘metabolite chain effects on cell development and hormone release from the pituitary and adrenal glands,’ whatever the fuck that means, with some guy, Colonel Karpov.” You looked up at the ceiling, “Karpov, why do I know that name?”

You were greeted by silence, finally looking over at Tony and Bucky, both of whom had gone white as sheets. “Guys? You ok?”

Tony cleared his throat before finding his voice, “Karpov was in charge of the Hydra’s winter soldier program during the 80s and 90s.” You looked over at Bucky whose eyes were downcast, his mouth set in a firm line. “He was the one who had my parents murdered.”

There was a sticky silence that followed Tony’s words, as if someone had left a gas stove on without lighting the burner. If you were to light a match you wouldn’t be surprised to see the air around you burst into a thousand flames.

Bucky remained silent. You knew about his and Tony’s past grievances, but that had to be put aside for the sake of your teammates’ mission. 

You stated the conclusion that you all had silently come to, “She helped Hydra implement the serum they stole from Howard Stark.” You took a long gulp of air. “They must be trying to pick up where they left off, to create a new serum. To create new soldiers.”

Bucky stood up from the table so suddenly that your cup of too-strong coffee tipped over the edge, shattering and spilling its contents on the floor.

“I need to call Steve now.” And with that he left the room in just a few long strides. 

You didn’t know what to do or what to say. Consoling people in times of crisis was not your forte, not by a long shot. “Tony? Do you need anything?” 

“Yeah. I need a drink.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, I have no clue how many parts this will turn out to be. Part 2 was just supposed to have some minor angst to keep the story interesting and then my hand slipped. oh dear. Also, LOL, disclaimer: to my knowledge Irn Bru is not connected to any shady criminal enterprises. But if any soft drinks company were go all Max Rager, I think it’d be them (that’s an iZombie reference). Thank yall for reading!


	3. Part 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky coordinate the mission from the tower, but things do not go as planned. Edited Dec 7. because my HTML fucked up and like deleted half this chapter???

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lol, now might be a good time to admit that I don’t have a smartphone and I never have, so I don’t have a fucken clue as to how ‘notifications??’ work on them. Forgive my ignorance if I have used that word incorrectly.

The last twelve or so hours had blurred in the rush of activity. Every hour brought new information, new tasks that needed to be accomplished, and new ways that the remainder of the mission could go awry. Your head was killing you. 

Tony, along with Vision, had left for Glasgow in a quinjet late last night not long after the intelligence discovery while you and Bucky remained at the tower to continue gathering more intel and to assist with coordinating the mission. 

It hadn’t taken much more digging before you and Bucky started to learn about the Hydra cell that had taken Dr. Hearn. In the twenty-first century, everyone has a digital fingerprint, a detailed diary of their activities, and Hydra was no exception. In no time, the two of you began following a trail of shady bank transactions, shipping orders, and various surveillance videos from airports, train stations, and motels. And by digging into the Hydra files that were released by Natasha during the DC incident all those years ago, you soon had a located a spot on some satellite images that was undoubtedly the location of their base.

Your cell phone was precariously held between your cheek and your shoulder as you cracked eggs into a bowl for an omelette, which felt more like a second dinner than a breakfast owing to the fact that you had yet to sleep. “Bucky and I think we’ve found their base. We found a spot in the Italian Alps that is emitting an unusually high amount of coronal discharge for a supposedly uninhabited mountain. We cross checked it with some of Hydra’s old files, and it seems to check out. So, change your course to about fifty miles north-northeast of Milan. We’ll send you the coordinates once we verify and pinpoint the exact location.”

“Have Steve and the rest of the team gotten this information yet? I assume they be taking their quinjet there and are not in need of lift.” Tony’s voice competed with the sound of you whisking the eggs.

“Yeah. Bucky’s on the phone with someone right now. Wanda, I think,” you said, now dicing some ham. “We figured it would be best for them to leave Scotland ASAP and have both quinjets on the mission seeing as how it keeps getting more out of hand.” You let out a frustrated sigh.

Tony, despite his own bad mood and the muffled cell signals, could detect a hint of irritation in your voice with that last statement, “Everything alright? You sound more agitated than me.”

“I’m fine, Tony,” you huffed out, chopping the chives with a little too much force. “I just have a headache and I haven’t slept yet and this mission is just…well, it’s all a bit of a cock up isn’t it?” 

“We’ve had missions way worse than this. You know that,” He paused. “What’s really bothering you?”

You couldn’t hold back the one thing that had been eating at you since he left any longer, so you just said it outright. “Tony, why am not in the field? Why is Bucky not in the field? I get that you’re both a bit sore at the moment, but seriously. This seems like an ‘all hands on deck’ kind of mission, and you’ve got the both of us here on desk duty with our thumbs up our butts.”

But before Tony could get in a snarky response, he was cut off by a rather loud yelp, a crashing sound, and then a long string of profanities.

“Son of a fuck!” You yelled, the phone slipping from your shoulder as you quickly put your finger in your mouth to soothe the cut you’d just given yourself. 

“…Y/N?…Y/N?” You could hear Tony’s faint voice coming through your phone on the ground, picking it up as you finally surveyed the damage to your index finger.

“I’m here,” you panted into the phone, your finger now beginning to throb.

“Have you been mauled by a bear? Been meaning to call animal control for weeks.”

“You’re such an ass, Tony. I cut my damn finger, and I’m bleeding like a damn stuck pig.” 

“And how shall I have your headstone inscribed?” You hear him stifling his laughter.

“Ha. Ha.” You stated in monotone, wrapping a paper towel around your finger as you headed to bathroom off the common area for a bandaid.

Despite the stinging in your finger, you were actually relieved to hear Tony teasing you. He had been understandably upset when he had left last night. Even though he and Bucky had long since made up and come to terms with each other’s pain, that didn’t mean it felt good to have Hydra reopen those old wounds and pour salt on them for good measure. It was reassuring to hear the levity in his voice again.

“Well, it sounds like you’ve got your hands full, I wasn’t trying to be clever there, so I’ll let you go. Send me those coordinates when you’ve got them, and call if you have any news,” he paused for a moment. “And, Y/N, for what it’s worth, we’re not keeping you two there for nothing. We need you two coordinating for us, and you can’t do all of that from the quinjet, at least not well. Chin up, pumpkin.”

You let his words sink in, still not entirely convinced, before deflecting your doubts and insecurities with some snark of your own, “Pumpkin? I thought you were going to be calling my Irritable Blizzard Syndrome now, or some such nonsense.”

“FRIDAY? Please remind me when I return to the tower to change Agent Y/LN’s quinjet access to ‘Irritable Blizzard Syndrome.” You could hear a faint ‘yes, boss’ through the line.

You bit back the giggle that threatened to escape, “Ok, Tony. I’m hanging up now.”

“Take care of that finger.”

You finished bandaging your finger before returning to the kitchen to discard the now tainted chives. You made quick work finishing the remainder of the omelette and set out plates for you and Bucky, who had just gotten off the phone with Wanda.

Your shared ‘breakfast’ was a subdued affair. Neither of you were usually talkative with each other, and now you both were fatigued and equally lost in each own’s thoughts. You and he wordlessly cleaned the dishes, the teamwork you had both developed in the field showing as you both maneuvered in sync with each other. 

Not long after your meal, Bucky was able to verify the coordinates and send the intel to Tony and Steve while you called your contact at the UN Security Council to alert them of the developments. 

And then, nothing. 

Just waiting.

There was nothing left for you or Bucky to do until Tony and the others met on a nearby peak to prepare and strategize for the attack and extraction, and even with the high speed of the quinjets, that would not be for another several hours.

A yawn reminded you of your lack of sleep. “Hey Bucky, I’m gonna go try to get a couple hours of shut-eye. You should probably do the same,” you kept your voice soft, but not patronizingly so. He still had that same haunted look in his eyes that you had seen the night before. 

“I don’t know if I can. I’ll go see if I can maybe doze off a bit with the TV on.” And with that he slumped off to the TV room, which housed a large flatscreen and no shortage of plush couches.

As you settled into your bed, body humming uncomfortably with the adrenaline from pulling an all-nighter, you couldn’t deny that you hadn’t been completely truthful with Tony. It wasn’t just that you were disappointed about not going on the mission; you were also becoming increasingly anxious to see Sam again. 

You and he hadn’t so much as exchanged a text in almost two weeks. You didn’t hold it against him though; it was pretty normal on missions that in one’s spare time, things like texting and personal phone calls were neglected in favor Netflix or just a few moments of peace. The way you saw it was that if Sam had wanted to text you, he would. You kept telling yourself that you didn’t hold it against him, but admittedly, selfishly, you wished he would.

Pushing such thoughts aside with a sigh, you rolled over onto your side and willed your body and mind to relax. Eventually, slowly, and without noticing it, you were finally lulled into unconsciousness.

When you awoke to the sound of Bucky softly knocking on your door just a few short hours later, you could have wept. You were bone tired. Your mind felt sluggish and your limbs weak. It was the kind of fatigue that didn’t allow your eyes to open fully, being too dry and too heavy to allow the light in. But you forced them open nonetheless.

And that’s when you saw the red flash on your phone. You opened your notifications and your heart leapt slightly. You had a couple texts from Sam.

> **Sam:** Hey, Y/N.  
>  Sorry I haven’t texted. You know how it goes. I just want to say I’ve been thinking about you.  
> We’re about to rendezvous with Tony near the base. Scotland was cloudy the entire time. Wish you could be here, my ray of sunshine.

Just two weeks ago, you’d been trying to convince yourself and Masha that an ‘office romance’ so to speak was a horrible idea. Now in the last two minutes, two or more years of a suppressed  
crush was reducing your resolve into a fit of silent squeals and a stupidly wide grin. You took a few breaths before tapping out a reply.

> **You:** No worries, Sam.  
>  I wish I could be there too. My neck is stiff and in need of your magic hands…  
> Thinking of you too.

Was that too flirty? Not flirty enough? Why was texting so difficult for you? 

You got out of bed, now feeling much more alert and lighter in heart than when you’d first awoken. Your full body stretch was interrupted as your phone chirped at you.

> **Sam:** I was waiting for your reply before asking…  
>  Irritable Blizzard Syndrome???

Damn Tony. Damn that man to hell.

> **You:** Uhhh…I can explain…  
>  Tony…is the worst…?

> **Sam:** Lol, whatever you say.  
>  Oh, and I’ve got one hell of a massage waiting for you when I get back. ;)  
> …

He was taking a long time to send his next message, so you figured it must be a long one.

> **Sam:** Among other things

You felt heat spread across your face and down your body. How were supposed to respond to that? What could you possibly say that wouldn’t sound too eager but also not to cold? You swallowed as you typed out your message, hoping you were reading the situation right.

> **You:** I’m counting on that.

> **Sam:** Be still my heart.  
>  Ok, gotta go. Wish us luck!  
> See you tomorrow, and leave the light on for me, yeah?

> **You:** Good luck!  
>  And of course I will.

With a flutter of your heart, you started getting ready for the rest of the day. You took a neck-down shower at record speed before changing into jeans and t-shirt and joining Bucky in the kitchen. Helping yourself to a cup of coffee far superior to the one you’d had with Tony the night before, you settled in the seat across from Bucky as he dialed the conference line.

Letting Bucky take the lead on the call, tactical strategy being his strong suit, you and he finished briefing the rest of your team. While Bucky gave them verbal instruction and analyses of the Hydra cell, its operatives, and the base where they were stationed, you made sure that they each got a copy of the radar and the newly rendered ultrasound imaging that showed the subterranean maze of tunnels that made up the base deep within the mountain as well, as specs on the leaders of the base.

The plan formed was that once the sun went down in about thirty minutes, Tony, Vision, and Sam would fly in to clear the way for the rest of the team, who would then split between the two entrances on the west and south sides of the mountain and make their way to the center of the base. There, the heat signatures were the strongest, and it was likely that Dr. Hearn was being held there. Meanwhile the airborne members would keep watch on the base, ready to provide back up if needed. This mission plan was pretty typical for the team, and the Avengers were nothing if not efficient. Altogether they should be done in less than two hours.

When the call ended. You and Bucky, yet again, had nothing to do but wait. 

And while waiting could be tedious, for the first time in weeks, there was an end in sight to this mission. Within two hours, Sam and the team would be on their way to the UN security council with Dr. Hearn (kidnapped by Hydra or not, she was a war criminal after all), and within a few hours of that, they would begin the seven-or-so-hour flight back to New York. If all went to plan they would hopefully be back in time for a second sunset at the tower.

Your stomach gave a nervous flip at that thought, as you began clearing away the layers of notepads, papers, and empty coffee cups from the past two weeks while Bucky began wrapping cords and gathering up the various tablets and monitors that had been set up for the impromptu workspace. 

Even though you were eager to see Sam, there was still that voice in the back your head reminding you of how well things had begun with your ex and how badly it had all turned out in the end. You knew from experience that dating a coworker could only end one of three ways: heartbreak resulting in you leaving the Avengers or spending the rest of your employment avoiding him at all costs, or a relationship that outlasted your tenure with the Avengers. The former two would be devastating to your career, and the latter…well, that scared the shit out of you. 

Once some semblance of order had been returned to the sitting , and it had been cleansed of any of the officey trappings that had accumulated there, Bucky returned to the TV room and you followed behind. While he went for a reclining chair remote in hand, you headed to one of the couches with your laptop, determined to ease your anxieties by getting a head start on the massive amounts of paperwork that this mission was sure to engender. The sounds of talking and laughter coming from the TV would be the perfect background noise to complement your efforts.

Several episodes of South Park later, however, you and Bucky were in stitches enjoying a well earned beer (or two). You had long abandoned the thought of doing anything productive as two weeks of twelve-hour days had finally gotten the best of you, your mind rebelling at the notion of working more. 

“Buck, need a refill?” You asked, getting up and waving your bottle slightly.

“Don’t you know it!” He responded almost exuberantly, handing you his empty.

You delayed your trip to the kitchen by first taking a short bathroom break. As you washed your hands, you took a brief moment to scan your appearance. The recent lack of sleep had left its mark as evidenced by your puffy eyes and drawn appearance. Surely Sam wouldn’t mind, having actually been on this convoluted mission himself. Hell, if anything, he might actually look less than perfect for a change. You gave yourself and approving smile. It was nothing that a few good nights of sleep couldn’t fix.

You grinned your whole way into the kitchen, relieved to finally see Bucky’s mood equalizing, equal part anxious and excited to Sam, and happy that this damned mission was finally, finally over. You looked at the green illuminated clock on the oven. They would be done with the extraction by now, maybe even at the UN already. 

You popped the cap on two beers, taking a long, celebratory swig out of yours before making your way back to the screening room. 

When you approached the large French doors of the room, you couldn’t hear the TV, but rather Bucky’s low voice, no doubt he was getting the all-clear call from someone on the mission. Your grin, which you’d been wearing since the bathroom, broke into a cheek splitting smile. You felt excited butterflies flitting through your stomach. It was over. This was proof that it was finally over.

You rounded the corner and saw Bucky’s face, and immediately your felt your smile slip and your stomach drop. Bucky’s brows were furrowed, his mouth set in a firm line, his shoulders hunched and tense, and his usually bright eyes had darkened.

“…yeah, she just got here. I’ll tell her…we’ll be wheels up in less than an hour…k, bye.” Bucky hung up the phone, unable to look up and look you in the eyes.

“Bucky, what’s going on?” You tried to sound casual and keep your voice even. Your mind was running through a thousand different possible scenarios. 

“Buck…?”

He finally looked up at you, his eyes just barely avoiding contact with yours. You heard Bucky’s voice as if you both were under water. Ice settled in your fingers, your toes, filled every vein and artery in your body. Your breath caught in your throat.

“It’s Sam. He was shot down.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY YALL!! Be comforted by the fact that I am far too weak to EVER write a major character death, but there will be angst…


	4. Part 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You and Bucky meet up with the rest of the team in Europe while Sam is rushed into the ICU. And as you’ve become accustomed to in the last few days, it’s all just a waiting game at this point.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God I’m so bad at angst, so I’m sorry if this part just comes off as maudlin. But, self-deprecation aside, mostly what I was trying to play with here are silences and how grief and crisis kind of make you lose it a little, like the dumb and crazy things your mind comes up with when you’re not able to think straight. Unfortunately, there’s not a lot of Sam in this, mostly in the form of memories, just wait till the next part…I hope. I don’t know what I’m doing.

They say that time flies when you’re having fun. But why don’t they, that ever present and all knowing ‘they,’ ever talk about the passage of time when you’re dreading something. 

Once when you were eleven years old, you heard your name being called over the PA system saying that you must report to the principle’s office immediately, announcing your impending punishment to all that heard. Time, in that moment, seemed to have stopped. The process of getting up from your desk, walking across the classroom conscious of your peers’ gazes, and the journey down the dimly lit tiled hallway to the too-tall wooden door that spelled out in peeling letters the extent of the dismay you felt seemed, at that age, like an insurmountably long stretch of time and distance. 

As you walked back to your room to pack a bag, you felt as though you had been transported back to that moment. You felt like a scared child. You wanted nothing more than for an adult to wrap in you warm, vanilla scented arms and to tell you it was going to be okay, that you didn’t need to worry about it because they would take care of everything for you. Only this time, you weren’t a child. There were no soft arms in which to seek solace. You were very much an adult, and you weren’t in trouble. Sam was.

Your mind couldn’t catch up with what was happening. The world was still spinning as steadily as it ever had, but it was too fast or maybe you were moving too slowly. The sound of you pulling the duffel from the shelf in your closet was deafening in the silence of your room. 

You felt numb, on autopilot, as you pulled out your laminated packing list and dry-erase marker. You thought to yourself that you ought to make one of these for Sam for his birthday so that he wouldn’t keep forgetting things on missions. You were pretty sure the PR department wouldn’t mind letting you use the laminating machine again. Yes, that would be a perfect gift, small but meaningful.

You moved through your drawers, choosing articles of clothing. Would it be cold in Zurich? How cold? Should you pack a jacket? Best to be safe. You didn’t even think to pull up a weather report on your laptop.

And why Zurich? They were closer to Milan. Was it possible that there were no hospitals in Milan? No, what a stupid thing to think. Surely Tony had his reasons.

Grief and distress have a way of giving people the queerest thoughts.

You looked down at your shaking hands, holding the knitted beanie that Sam had given you for Christmas last year. It was just about the ugliest thing you had ever seen with its uneven stitches and occasional ladders that had needed to be tied off. But Sam had knitted it himself after Wanda had taught him how, and he had looked so proud of himself and expectant when you’d unwrapped it, knowing how much you loved knitted hats in the winter. Your heart clenched slightly. You didn’t know if you would need it, but you popped it over your head nonetheless. You zipped your bag, grabbed your backpack with your laptop, and headed down the hall.

Then time threw you for loop as it suddenly sped up.

The next half hour felt like tape on fast forward as you and Bucky were driven to the airport where you boarded one of Tony’s private jets. It was just a blur. Words were said, but you didn’t hear them. You were just pulled forward.

Time seemed again to stand still as the pilot went through his pre-flight checks on the taxiway. Despite the lavishness of the jet, you couldn’t get comfortable. The lap-belt dug into your hips, and your legs cramped despite your spacious surroundings. The low hum of the jet engines seemed to reverberate in your head, amplifying to a deafening roar. But despite all this, your eyelids began fall, too weighed down by the past twenty-four hours to remain open any longer.

You must have nodded off before the plane even took off. You blinked awake and let your body stretch. Bucky must have leaned your seat back for you, and there was also a soft fleece blanket draped across your body. You were touched by the gesture. You looked around to see him sitting in a seat on the other side of the plane, face staring out the window. You both needed to be left your thoughts.

The hum of the engines now faded into the background as you settled back into your seat, wrapping the fleece around your arms. The sound was too loud to be white noise but too steady and soft to be distracting. And in this moment of calm, your mind was finally able to begin processing the events of the last few hours when Bucky had hung up from his call with Natasha.

* * *

_“Bucky, what’s going on?...Buck…?”_

_“It’s Sam. He was shot down.”_

_Ice. You felt icy cold._

_“He got shot once in the chest and once in the stomach. It was an automatic, so it’s a wonder he wasn’t hit worse.” Bucky was speaking softly, as if you were made of glass. “He must have passed out because he couldn’t deploy his chute.”_

_Your limbs felt like they were made of lead as you slumped limply onto the arm of one of the couches._

_“Tony’s rushing him to a hospital in Zurich. He can’t risk bringing him all the way back here. Wanda is using her powers to stem the bleeding, but he took a bad hit when he fell.”_

_You remembered when Rhodey had fallen. He had almost been paralyzed. He was still in rehab, still re-learning how to walk. And he’d been in a suit of armor. Sam had goggles._

_“There’s no immediate indication of a spinal injury. He wasn’t too high when he fell. But his head was bleeding pretty bad.”_

_Just goggles._

_“Pepper is arranging for one of Tony’s jets to take us to Zurich in about an hour. Go get packed, and someone will drive us to the airport.” Bucky was looking at you with concern, no doubt your silence was unsettling._

_You were surprised when his hand came to rest on your shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. You reached up with your hand and squeezed his hand right back, giving him a tight lipped smile that you knew was not convincing. But you knew if you tried to speak, you would surely choke on your words and begin to cry, so without a word, you turned and made your way down that long dark hall._

* * *

The buzzing of your phone drew you out of your thoughts. Tony. You cleared your throat a few times before picking it up and noticed that Bucky, too, was getting a call.

Your voice was still raspy from disuse when you answered, “Tony, any news?”

“Y/N,” no nicknames this time, no snark. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

When he hesitated too long for your comfort, you snapped, “Well?”

“He’s just out of surgery. They’re stitching him up now. The bleeding would have been a lot worse if Wanda hadn’t kept it in check. He took a bad knock to the head, but the wound was superficial, no brain damage that we can see yet. So that’s the good news.”

“Ok,” you couldn’t keep your voice from quivering slightly. “And the bad?”

“The uh, well—”

“Out with it, Tony,” you almost pleaded.

“There was some kind of toxin on the bullets. Just another way to make a gun worse, eliminates the need for perfect aim.” He coughed slightly, you figured more out of nerves than actual need, “We’ve got a toxicologist trying to work out what it is was right now and if there’s an antidote or one that can be made.”

“But he’s ok, right?” You were almost afraid to hear his answer, “He’ll wake up from surgery soon, right?”

Another pause, “They had to put him in a medically induced coma—”

“WHAT?”

“bu- bu- bu-, he’s gonna be okay. Y/N?”

You finally woke out of the subdued state that had been keeping you meek, “I don’t mean to sound pedantic, Tony, but that does not sound okay!”

“It’s just a precautionary measure, Y/N. It’s perfectly safe. Doctors do it all the time. They needed to do it to allow his body to heal. That was one hell of a fall, and a poisoning on top of that.” He paused, allowing you to process what he was saying.

“I’m listening,” you huffed out.

“By letting his brain shut down for a bit, that’s just one less organ that his body needs to worry about. Plus, whatever toxin this is may not necessarily even warrant an antidote. It could metabolize out of his system all on its own, given enough time at stasis.” You could almost hear him measuring his words, “Plus, he wasn’t able to breath on his own from the poison.”

“Tony!”

“I’m just trying to give this to you in small manageable pieces.”

“I would prefer it all at once.” Your stomach felt like it was tying itself in knots, pulling the cords tighter and tighter.

“Well, that’s pretty much all we know about his condition for now. Y/N?”

You were almost afraid to ask, scared of the images his response might conjure in your mind’s eye, but you asked regardless, “How…how did it happen? When did he get shot?”

There was a measured silence on the other end of the line before Tony finally spoke, “It was after the ground team infiltrated the base. We didn’t know it but the base had backup forces camped at a lower elevation, under a snowdrift. That’s why we couldn’t see their heat signatures. And well, it was dark. They took us by surprise. We shot several down, but there was no moon, no light pollution, and it was just really, really dark. Even with the infrared, it was hard to see through the tree canopy.”

You were pretty sure Bucky had told you all of this at one point, but you hadn’t exactly been attentive in the last few hours. “How did you find him?” 

“We just followed the tracker in his suit.” Of course, you should have known that.

“Right, duh.” You weren’t sure what else to ask. You knew you had questions, but you couldn’t for the life of you bring them to words.

Tony must have sensed your speech paralysis as he concluded, “I’ll keep calling with news. You’ve got, what, about four hours left of your flight,” you must have been asleep longer than you’d thought. “It’s unlikely that we’ll hear any developments in that time, but if we do, I’ll call immediately.”

You let out a weary sigh, “Ok, I guess I’ll see you all soon…ish.” You had to ask before letting him go, “And Tony? How did he look? I mean, did he look okay?”

You could hear him sigh quietly on the other end, clearly not sure how to answer you. “He was unconscious, Y/N.” 

What had you been expecting him to say? 

He continued, “But he’ll be alright, ‘kay? We chose Zurich because I know several of the doctors here. They’re some of the best doctors I know, and the blood samples with the toxin were sent to a world renowned toxicologist in Naples. He’s gonna pull through. It may take a little while, but he will.”

“I know. I know he’ll be alright. I just, I’m…” you couldn’t finish that thought. You couldn’t risk bringing down some kind of cosmic bad luck on Sam by saying what you feared.

But Tony knew. He was experiencing this too. “I know, pumpkin. I know.”

Neither of you spoke for a few long seconds.

“Alright, well I’m going to go now. You shouldn’t be using your cell on that plane anyway.”

“Oh shit. Yeah. But you will call, right?”

“Of course.”

“Okay. Bye, Tony.”

“Bye for now, Y/N.”

And just like that you were back to waiting. Again. Just waiting.

You took the cap off your head, grimacing at the static electricity that crackled in the dry air of the plane. 

You couldn’t help but smile at the damn thing. It was just so ugly. It was an obnoxious shade of chartreuse that almost hurt to look at. You picked at one of the many loose stitches absently. There were so many times when you wondered if Sam had been trolling you when he gave it to you. But he had looked so sincere when you pulled off the wrapping paper, or at least you were pretty sure he had. You had seen him working on it since Halloween, completely unaware that he was intending it for you. So yeah, it was a hellacious shade of green, a little too small for your head, ratty as all get out, and not even all that warm to boot, but you’d be damned if you ever told him that. And in truth, it was probably the best present you’d ever received.

Tucking it back over your head, you walked unsteadily to the bathroom, wary of any potential turbulence. You grabbed a water bottle for yourself and one for Bucky from the mini fridge on your way back, gently setting it on the table in front of him. You both nodded at the other wordlessly.

As you settled back into your seat and buckled yourself in, you almost felt grateful that Sam weren’t here to laugh at you for such an action. You could imagine what he’d say because he’d said something similar every time they’d had to use the jet before. You thought back to the last flight you and team had taken on the way back from a political summit in Brussels. 

_“Y/N, are you seriously buckling in? There’s no flight attendants to hassle you here, just champagne and room to lounge. C’mon, let’s get classy drunk.” He then kicked his feet up onto the small coffee table, one arm behind his head, and raised his flute of champagne._

You smiled fondly at the memory. No, you’d give anything to have him here giving you hell.

You shook the thought away. Grabbing out a book and your iPod from your backpack, you started at chapter one as the lyrics of your most recently downloaded song washed over you.

_…Sunshine in my eyes can make me cry  
Sunshine on the water looks so lovely…_

* * *

Whereas time had been travelling at warp speed on your way to the airport in New York, it was making up for such gains at the airport in Zurich. Private jet or no, Avengers or no, both you and Bucky were still beholden to the laws of the land, and that meant customs and immigration, the line for which was painfully long.

“You know, you’d think they would have an express line for rich bastards like Tony,” you grumbled impatiently as the line crept forward one space.

“But then there’d be nothing left in this world to help keep him humble,” Bucky looked back at you and gave you a sly smile before slipping back into the frown he’d been wearing since the call, the same motions flitting across your face as well.

After what felt like hours, but was really less than twenty minutes, of foot tapping, sighing, and futile remarks about the inefficiency the system and how it could be improved, Bucky, and then you a few minutes later, finally got called to an immigration agent.

When you stepped past the one-way doors into the baggage claim area, your eyes almost immediately found Tony’s. Even though you weren’t usually the touchy sort, you rushed over and gave him a rib cracking hug, which he promptly returned. Bucky, who was stood to the side, cleared his throat slightly when you both remained in the hug a bit too long. Finally, you released Tony for fear that a rogue tear might finally escape.

Even though you, and no doubt Bucky as well, were brimming with questions, the drive to the hospital was a silent affair. Tony hadn’t even bothered offering to stop at the hotel on the way, probably assuming that you would both refuse the offer. 

You finally found yourself walking into the waiting room outside the ICU where the rest of the team were all seated, matching grim expressions on every face. After everyone had exchanged the requisite restrained greetings and words of consolation with you and Bucky, a nurse led you both into Sam’s room.

The sight made the world around you go quiet. You stood on his right side examining the various tubes and wires connecting him to various machines. A breathing tube had been inserted into his trachea, an IV bag connecting to his left arm kept a steady stream of saline and barbiturate solution circulating through his body, and other tubes you couldn’t identify led to other machines with readings you couldn’t comprehend. His skin had taken on a grayish, almost waxy appearance. And his eyes, those deep umber pools that you had gotten lost in so many times before, were nowhere to be seen, hidden behind lids that for the time being would not open.

Gone was the superhero, and in his place was the man behind the name. And this man looked weak, frail, and so very, painfully human.

You could hear the nurse talking to Bucky in a low voice, but the words sounded garbled as though you were wearing ear muffs. You couldn’t remove your eyes from Sam’s form.

You simultaneously felt stupid and emotional in addition to feeling so very, very scared. You and he had only shared flirtatious comments with each other and two kisses, what right did you have to mourn like this? Like your world was crashing down? But at the same time, he had been more than that. He was one of your closest friends at the tower, so you had every right to mourn, right?

You turned to ask Bucky what the nurse had said, but found yourself alone in the room. And just like that, finally having found the solitude and privacy you craved, the dam broke. 

Tears poured down your face as sobs shook your tired body, and you fell backward into his bedside chair. You took his hand in both of yours, shivering at the coolness of his skin.

You knew he was going to be alright. Tony had the best people looking out for Sam. But you could not, for the life of you, shake that nagging ‘but what if he’s not okay?’ from your mind. 

You didn’t know how long you had spent at his side, holding his hand, memorizing the lines of his face, and finally taking the time to really think about Sam’s place in your life and what you might hope yours would be in his. You only got up and left him because your overwhelming need to find a bathroom could not be ignored any longer.

When you tried to go back to Sam’s room, you were stopped by one of the nurses. 

With a rather thick Swiss accent, he politely informed you, “Sorry, but visiting hours are done.”

You looked at the clock, which read 11:37pm. Visiting hours had ended at 9:00, and they had let you stay in there well past that time. You thought it best not to push your luck and ask for an exception. So with a nod and a smile, after retrieving your backpack, you made your way back to the lobby, which by then had cleared out, and you assumed your team had gone to the hotel.

Finding nothing better to do, you decided to head for the cafeteria and at least get some coffee or anything hot to drink. You would ask the receptionist if a message had been left for you afterwards.

With a steaming mug of coffee in your hands, you turned to find a good table to settle in with your book. Your eyes landed on the rather dejected posture of Bucky hunching over a cold looking cup of coffee. And it hit you. Next to Steve, Sam was probably the closest thing that Bucky had to a best friend at the tower. Despite all their bickering and the insults they threw at each other, anyone could see that it was all just a front. Sam meant the world to Bucky and vice versa. Bucky must be going through the same hell as you.

You and Bucky didn’t exactly have the most conversational relationship. You often thought of Ron Swanson’s supposed best friend ‘with whom he still never talks sometimes’; it was a silly comparison, sure, but a good summation of your relationship nonetheless. You sat down catty-corner from him, opened your book to where you’d dog-eared your place, and read silently to yourself. 

One chapter and a refill of coffee later, Bucky shifted in his seat. When you looked up, it was clear that he was trying to work out what to say. You patiently waited, blowing softly on your coffee.

“Is that the hat Sam made you?” There was almost a twinkle in his eyes as he asked this.

“Yeah, I just…well it seemed right to wear it.”

He nodded, and you both fell into an awkward silence, both unsure whether to continue talking or to go back to not talking.

“You holding up okay?” was all he managed to get out.

“I’m hanging in there. You?” You weren’t exactly sure what to say either.

“Mmm, yeah. Just hate waiting, y’know?”

“Yeah. Seems like that’s all you and I have done in the last two days.” 

He nodded silently, still not looking up from his mug. 

Maybe he wouldn’t mind you talking. You needed to get this off your chest. “I guess I’m just, I don’t know what I’m trying to say…I’m angry.” There, that was a start, and then the words began to fall from your lips, “I know I shouldn’t be, but I’m mad at Tony, at Steve, at all of them. I mean what were they thinking leaving us at the tower? They needed all the backup they could get. We should have been there. Maybe Sam still would have gotten shot down, but at least I wouldn’t be feeling so fucking useless. All I’ve done for the last few days is sit at my computer googling things, hacking things here and there, ‘coordinating.’ If Tony had wanted to keep me on desk duty, fine, whatever, but I wish he would have at least had the courtesy to tell me outright and, more importantly, why.” 

It felt cathartic to finally get it all out. Maybe you were projecting your anxiety about Sam onto other issues, but this had been bothering you to an extent since the moment Tony had left the tower for Milan.

Bucky looked at you with an unreadable expression for an uncomfortably long several seconds before he began, “You want to really know why I wasn’t on the mission?”

You nodded wordlessly.

“Well I’ll give you a hint; it’s not because of my computer skills, which are basic at best. It was because they couldn’t risk me being triggered. I know that the Wakandans did a good job helping me overcome the trigger words that Karpov put there, but there was too much risk that he might have left a back door for his successors.” He huffed out a bitter sigh, “So believe me when I say I know what it’s like to feel useless. At least you had a real reason for staying: babysitting me.”

You sat in stunned silence when he concluded. Your emotions felt like a Jackson Pollock painting, chaotic, running together, clashing. Part of you felt honored that Tony, but especially Steve, had trusted you to look out for Bucky. Another part felt irritated that they thought Bucky needed looking after. And that you and he had been stuck behind because they couldn’t trust Bucky around Karpov’s men so many years after the fact. Part of you felt like this was all just a silly and patronizing error in judgement. And finally, you felt a twinge of guilt that you hadn’t caught onto this seemingly obvious conclusion sooner. Bucky didn’t just feel useless. He was still feeling the sting of being held in suspicion because the man Hydra made him to be.

You swallowed the imaginary lump in your throat, “Bucky, you’re not useless.” You held his gaze as you continued, “Maybe they were right to keep you, as well as me, in New York, maybe they weren’t. I guess we’ll never know, and speculating about the ‘what if’ gets us nowhere.” You sighed deeply and took a long drink of your coffee before continuing, “I’m sorry for unloading on you like that. I had no idea of what Tony was up to, though you’d think I would have come to that on my own. Regardless, what I’m trying to say is that there’s no point blaming yourself. I know I’m not exactly the poster child for not blaming yourself, but there you have it…”

You let your own words sink in, having spoken more on gut instinct that actual critical thought and self-reflection. You knew it was wrong to blame Tony or Steve or even yourself for any of this mess. They had their reasons for keeping Bucky, and therefore you, back in New York, however misguided those reasons might have been. Nothing could have prevented Sam’s accident. And all you could do was tamp that guilt and projected blame down as much as possible.

Bucky let out a humorless laugh with a smile that seemed a bit forced, “If we had a ‘who feels most guilty about this mission contest,’ I think you and I might tie for second.”

You laughed softly despite yourself, “Yeah. You and I are just…the worst.”

His smile finally reached his eyes, ever so fleetingly, “Now, Y/N, about that hat...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m still sorry for what it’s worth, but at least there’s not a cliffhanger this time? The next part probably won’t be up till the end of next week. I was only able to get this one out so quick because of my overwhelming guilt and because I had worked on it in tandem with Part 3. Thanks for reading!!


	5. Part 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam’s condition does not improve, you turn to the one person who might have answers. And if you have to break a few laws along the way, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, we’re coming near the end. One more part and maybe an epilogue? We’ll see. Thanks for sticking around this long!

Your nightmares were never like the ones from books and movies. You never shot out bed, moaning or screaming, covered in a sheen of cold sweat, gulping at the air as you tried to catch your breath with sobs racking your body. In your nightmares, you were lucid, aware that you were dreaming yet paralyzed in them nonetheless, unable to react, unable to move, utterly devoid of agency. When you would awaken, you would lay in bed, both body and mind still in a state of paralysis from what you’d just experienced, your body eerily still and your mind oddly vacant.

This time had been no different. You watched as Sam fell. You silently observed the bullets entering his body as he soundlessly shouted into the air, reaching out for you, an embrace which you passively denied. He couldn’t stand. His legs, two flaccid pieces of flesh, would not move. His struggles became weaker and weaker, until he finally rested his head down and did not lift it again. You could feel the crushing weight in your heart, your mind spiraling in helpless grief, but you could not cry, you could not scream. All you could do was watch as the scene faded into the darkness of the room.

After a few minutes of laying and staring at the textured ceiling, you finally pushed away the covers and sat on the edge of the bed, your feet propped on the bedframe. The sun had not yet risen, but you got up and made some coffee with the dehydrated crystals and water from the electric kettle. It wasn’t what you were used to, but it would suffice. You sipped cautiously at the steaming mug as you opened your laptop, the screen making your pupils constrict as you hissed at the sudden brightness. No new notifications from the team or the doctors. What a shock.

Paralysis. It was a pretty good way of summarizing your current state. You were paralyzed by feelings of uselessness, paralyzed by your shrinking hope, paralyzed.

It had been five days since you had arrived in Zurich, six since Sam had fallen, and the doctors were no closer to an antidote. And the toxicologist in Naples had only been able to identify the poison as “an unknown organic plant compound.” Great. Fucking thanks, doc. That really helps.

You had spent past five days alternating between sitting or sleeping at Sam’s side, drinking coffee in the cafeteria while keeping apprised of the interrogations of the prisoners taken from the base, and sleeping in the uncomfortable vinyl chairs in the ICU lobby. The only reason you were presently in your hotel room rather than the hospital was because Tony had finally shamed you into getting rest by reminding you that you hadn’t showered in almost a week. So, to the hotel you reluctantly went.

Sam’s condition had not improved in the meantime. If anything, it had gotten worse. Based on their examinations, the paralysis that the doctors had observed in Sam’s diaphragm, which had necessitated the barbiturate coma to begin with, had spread. And according to the last blood test, the unknown plant compound was still in his system and was no doubt the culprit behind Sam’s condition. Unlike Tony’s wishful thinking, it hadn’t metabolized out of his system, which meant he would need an antidote, an antidote that could not be created until the compound was identified. You were getting desperate. You were getting sick of waiting.

You ate a hurried breakfast in the hotel dining room that your nerves made seem unpalatable, even though you knew it was gourmet. You were soon joined by some of the others. Steve and Bucky ate while you drank your coffee, and before long, Natasha and Clint joined, followed by an unusually shabby looking Tony. 

You could tell he wasn’t taking his own advice about getting rest, and you knew it was likely because of his own internalized guilt. He was one of three members of the airborne team, and you knew he probably felt that he could have, should have done more. 

‘Woulda coulda shoulda’ your toothless grandma used to say in her creaking voice, ‘what a crock a shit.’ She was nothing if not pithy.

But you were done: done waiting, done regretting, done feeling guilty. You couldn’t change what had already transpired, but you could change what was yet to happen.

You looked at Tony, trying to decide whether to speak now or at the hospital. But before your mind could decide, your mouth made an executive decision, “Tony, I want in on the interrogations.”

Everyone looked up from their food, first to you, and then to Tony, who had on an expression of weariness.

“Y/N,” he sighed, “We’ve already been over this. The Hydra operatives were low level. They hardly know more than we do. There’s nothing to gain by shipping you off to London to find out what we already know they don’t know.”

You shook your head. He was overlooking the obvious. “I don’t mean the pee-ons. I mean Hearn.”

Tony sat back, his trademark brow cocked slightly, “Go on.”

You looked around the table as you spoke to the team, “Think about it. She worked for Hydra _voluntarily_ in the 80s and 90s. Just because she was taken against her will this time doesn’t mean that she’s innocent,” you paused, for a more dramatic effect, “or ignorant. I’ve seen the tapes of her from this week, and I think she knows more than she’s letting on. I don’t think she’s the repentant scientist misled by her curiosity and ambitions that she wants us to think she is. She’s hiding something.”

You looked to Natasha for support, if anyone could read Hearn’s body language and corroborate your suspicions, it would be her.

Her expression unwavering, Natasha added, “I think there may be something to it.” She looked over to Tony, who would have the final word, “Besides, we’re getting nowhere here. What have we got to lose by trying this route?”

Tony regarded Natasha thoughtfully.

“C’mon, Tony.” Steve, ever the voice of reason, adding next, “We can only keep a vigil for so long. Let us help Sam. Let us do something.”

Your eyes darted back to Tony. You could almost see the gears in his head turning as he weighed his options before finally saying, “Alright. Well, I can see that the people have spoken. Let me make a few calls, and in the meantime, Y/N, Nat, Steve, go get packed. Wheels up in 45.”

You knew to take your victory and not question Tony’s decision to not include Bucky. The two of them along with Wanda and Vision would remain in Zurich.

“Oh, and Y/N?” Tony called after you, “If you’re able to call in any huge sweeping favors with your contact in the UN, now might be a good time.”

* * *

You, Steve, and Nat spent the short flight to London reviewing Hearn’s interrogation tapes, pouring over the preliminary annotations that the cryptographers had left on her coded notes, and digging up any other information that could potentially be used against her. Before you knew it, your driver was pulling into the underground lot of the prison where the Hydra operatives were being held.

The subterranean halls were sufficiently sterile, gray, and dim. You supposed they were trying to engage in a subtle form of psychological manipulation, sensory deprivation. Keeping prisoners ignorant of the time of day and denying them the kinds of visual stimuli needed for one’s mind to remain active made them more pliable, more susceptible to betraying their accomplices on the outside.

The guard led the three of you to a plain gray door that almost would have blended into the wall surrounding it had it not been for the brushed steel handle. You could see another door about ten yards down made of reinforced steel with several locks visible along one edge.

The room was dark with a large screen on the far wall, projecting the video stream from the adjacent interrogation room. In that room, there was a single steel table, bolted to the floor, and two metal chairs. In the chair facing the video camera was sat a slight middle aged woman with short graying hair set in a perm. Her face had laugh lines and wrinkles framing a Mona Lisa smile, all of which added to an overall grandmotherly affect. 

And yet you couldn’t help but think of Hannah Arendt’s theory of the banality of evil. Sure, she looked normal on the outside, but looks seldom said much about the person inside. Or maybe you were wrong, maybe you were sniffing up the wrong tree, maybe this was all a waste of time. 

Your pessimistic ruminations were suddenly cut short as a familiar face entered the room. Masha, your ‘contact,’ had recently been promoted to the chief of staff for the US Ambassador to the UN.

“Masha,” you sighed in relief as she wrapped you in a hug. You couldn’t believe how good it was to see her. It had only been about three weeks since she had left New York, but they had been three very long, very bad weeks. 

“You’re lucky I was still in London or you’d’ve had to deal with Kevin. I hate Kevin.” 

You laughed for the first time in a while, grateful for her light humor, as you introduced her to Natasha and Steve. 

“Glad to put a face to the name,” Steve said as they shook hands. “Y/N never stops talking about you, but I had no idea that you were one in the same as her UN contact.” You looked at them sheepishly, after all you’d only been trying to maintain Masha’s privacy.

After the brief introductions had been made, there was no time for small talk, Masha addressed the three of you, and you could see why she had been chosen as the ambassador’s chief of staff. She was talking to three Avengers, one of whom was Captain America, and she knew how to control the room.

“You guys have one hour. The UK officials were not overly keen on one of their citizens, war criminal or not, being questioned by foreign agents,” adding before you could protest, “Avengers or not.” She gave you one of her looks.

“You’ll have to follow regulation to the letter as everything will be recorded. No coercion, no leading questions, no threats however thickly veiled, and no physical contact of any kind. You need to follow _all_ standard regulations, but those are the big ones. Got it?” She looked each of you in the eye individually before continuing. 

“Hearn has waived her right to legal counsel for the time being, so use that freedom wisely. Now, who’s going in first?”

Natasha was the natural choice.

She began by sitting down across from Hearn, opening a file, and reading from it silently for what felt like a few minutes. Finally, she closed the file, folded her hands on the table, and began. She asked several easy questions in an attempt to ease Hearn into a false sense of security and to establish any inconsistencies between this and previous interrogations. 

_When were you voluntarily employed by Hydra?_  
_To what extent were you involved in the development and implementation of Stark’s serum?_  
_How long was your tenure with Hydra?_  
_Why did you leave?_  
_Were you aware that Hydra operatives had been investigating you for the past year?_  
_What was the nature of your work in the past few weeks of captivity?_

Hearn answered every question with ease, her answers corroborating her past testimony and her Irish lilt sounding deceptively musical. Her work in the past few weeks had been centered around redeveloping the serum to create new super-soldiers. Hydra, despite the news reports to the contrary, was still very much active, albeit now very underground and overshadowed by new criminal players. 

The tests on the serum had been unsuccessful, leaving a trail of now closed missing persons cases in their wake. And although her testimony, on the surface, seemed remorseful, there was an unsettling light that came into her eyes when she theorized why the new serums had failed. She may have looked like a grandma, but even the most matronly people have their secrets. 

Then Natasha decided to start digging into new territory.

“Tell me Dr. Hearn,” she was careful to always address Hearn with her title. Faux respect and deference can flatter people into spilling small truths. “What do you know about some of the weapons advances made by the Milan cell?”

“Oh, I have nothing to do with guns and bombs. They’re as foreign to me as the Moon,” she answered with a dry smile, “I never have been much use outside of my labs and gardens.”

_Gardens?_ She had not made any mention of gardens before. Maybe it was a stretch, but the toxin keeping Sam ill had come from a plant compound. You began flipping through her files and work history, looking for anything that might shed light on that comment.

This slip did not go unnoticed by Natasha, but she gave no indication that it had been a red flag. 

“Mmm,” she hummed tranquilly, “I’ve always loved caring for my orchids, recently acquired a new moth orchid. Such a showy little flower.” You looked at Steve who looked at you with the same surprised expression you wore. To your knowledge, Natasha had never even managed to keep an aloe vera, one of the lowest maintenance plants around, alive for more than a couple weeks. 

Hearn smiled almost wistfully, “I myself prefer to cultivate more unassuming flora. But I find that gardening helps to relax the mind and open it to new possibilities.”

“Unassuming. That’s an interesting word to use.” Nat let the sentence hang in the air as invitation for Hearn to keep talking.

“Oh yes,” Hearn almost looked enthusiastic now, that strange glint you’d noticed before returning to her eyes, “There are so many plants that hold secret depths that one would never know of without study.” She looked down at her hands, that spark growing more pronounced, “Take for instance the oleander. How many countless suburban homes and office parks have the shrub adorning their walkways and gardens? It has such beautiful blooms of pinks, whites, reds, or yellows. But it also contains a powerful cardiac glycoside that can stop a man’s heart as easily as it can an unsuspecting child’s. Such depths that lie in the plant kingdom.” 

A tense silence followed Hearn’s monologue, which had bordered on sounding unhinged. Natasha had opened the way for further questions, but she needed to divert to safer ground before proceeding.

“You sound passionate. I’ll admit that I find little interest in more prosaic species—once an orchid hobbyist, always an orchid hobbyist—but I think you may have convinced me to be more open to other plants.”

“Orchids have their own merits, I’m sure.” She smiled cooly.

“Thank you, Dr. Hearn. If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” And with that Natasha got up from her seat, exited the interrogation room and re-entered into the observation room.

“Okay, I’ve got her warmed up,” she said, glancing at the clock, “We don’t have much longer left, so don’t blow this.” 

“No pressure or anything,” you responded, smiling sarcastically at her. 

Three pairs of eyes looked at you somewhat disparagingly. But you had a plan. You knew how to get her talking.

As you entered the room, Hearn’s eyes met yours and held your stare as you approached the table, a folder in your hands.

“Dr. Hearn, I’m Agent Y/LN,” you tried to sound casual, “Mind if I sit?” Let her think she has control of the room.

“Please,” she said, gesturing toward the chair with an open hand. You sat and looked at her with a small feigned smile.

“Unassuming.” You stated the word, each syllable pronounced with deliberate care, not breaking eye contact. “I find that I agree with Agent Romanoff. What an interesting way to describe your passion.”

“Well, as I said, hidden depths.” 

You gave her a tight lipped smile. “I wonder though, Dr. Hearn, if you’ve ever heard of the hammer orchid.” You looked at her questioningly.

“Please tell me.” Her demeanor remained calm.

“It’s a peculiar genus and really quite unassuming.” You paused with a wry smile, then continued, “You see it has a rather unique flower, created from hundreds upon hundreds of years of adaptation and evolution. The blooms are not particularly showy, but they are actually quite fascinating. The bloom of each species mimics, in form and color, a different species of thynnid wasp. These orchids have evolved to bloom during the height of these wasps’ breeding season. And they don’t stop there. They even release a scent that so perfectly mimics the pheromone of a female wasp that male wasps will actually attempt to mate with it.”

Hearn listened with apparent attentiveness. 

“And when the male wasps try to mate with the flower, they inadvertently pollinate the orchids. So not only have the orchids thwarted the male wasp’s efforts, they have also profited by the deception. The orchid, like a wolf in sheep’s clothing, puts on the mantle of the female wasps for selfish gain, and the wasps that surround it are none the wiser. For such an unassuming orchid, I’d say it holds many great depths.” You stared her in the eyes, and she stared right back, your thinly veiled accusation hanging in the air.

Finally, the scientist spoke, “I wonder, Agent,” she hummed thoughtfully, “You seem knowledgeable enough. What do you know of the Coyotillo?” The glint in her eyes flashed almost menacingly.

“I’m afraid I haven’t ever heard of it,” you had no idea what she was getting at.

“Hmm, I thought not. So few have,” she held her chin thoughtfully, “As a scientist, you can learn so much more when you do not have an ethics board looking over your shoulder. Or better yet, the agencies who are funding you.

“I first discovered the Coyotillo during my work in Siberia. I’ll admit that at the time I woefully underestimated the rather scraggly shrub. It grows in the borderlands of Texas and Mexico, so it’s a small wonder I found out about it in the far reaches of the Asian tundra. But I began studying it because it contains several compounds that have an interesting effect on memory and nerves. But like all plants, it is a vastly more complex thing than it appears,” she paused, a grim smile forming on her lips. “More to the point, it contains several rather devious poisons.”

You knew she was toying with you, no longer bothering to keep up her façade of innocence. Giving you enough information to keep you listening, to keep you distracted, but not enough that you could actually do anything useful with it.

“It is so, ah what is the word of the hour? Unassuming. It has been known to wipe out whole herds of cattle and goats who unknowingly browse on its berries and leaves. But even so, it doesn’t have the alluring appearance of belladonna, nor the infamous acclaim of strychnine. And it doesn’t strike quickly like water hemlock. It is secretive, deceptive, hidden. In nature, it can take days, sometimes even weeks, for the body to fully succumb to the poisons.”

She looked at you as if inviting inquiry, and you obliged, your need for information outweighing any power dynamics at play in the interrogation. 

“How do the poisons work? How do they kill something as large as a cow?” You tried to sound like you were more intellectually interested rather than emotionally invested in her response.

“Well, simply put, it’s a paralytic.” Your fingers went cold, “It begins by attacking the lower limbs and hindquarters of the animals, moving further up the body till it reaches the diaphragm, then the lungs, and finally the tongue and throat. But like I said, it may take a week before the first symptoms arise, and by then it’s far too late to purge the leaves from one’s body. But if the toxins take a more direct route to the bloodstream, then the timetable is sped up. And because it has such limited range and exposure to human populations, science has yet to justify researching and creating an antidote.” She smiled yet again, “A very interesting plant, would you not agree?”

You stared at her, every fiber of your being threatening to burst, anger agitating every nerve.

“Are you quite alright, Agent Y/LN? You look a bit peaked.”

You could hear Steve, quietly murmuring in your earpiece for you to “Shake it off. Keep the line of questioning open.” 

But his words fell on deaf ears. You were tired of sitting paralyzed by procedure, by anxiety, by helplessness. It was time to say fuck it, and put your plan into action. That said, you would bide your time. If she wanted to play a game, then you would need to change the rules.

You turned your gaze down to the folder upon which your hands rested. You opened it, as you took a few deep but quiet breaths, trying to regain composure.

“What can you tell me about your home life, Dr. Hearn?”

She was caught off guard by the sudden change in topic. “I’m afraid I don’t understand your meaning.”

In a low voice, you said, “I see here you have twin grandsons living in Belfast. You must love them very much.” You smiled with false warmth.

Hearn’s confident front cracked ever so slightly.

Steve’s voice came back in a warning tone, “Y/N, what are you doing?” You reached up, took the earpiece out of your ear, turned it off and threw it on the table. Then without a second glance you picked up your chair, walked to the door, and in one fluid movement crammed it under the door handle, buying yourself at least ten minutes before Steve would be able to break past it. You then walked to the corner and ripped the power cord from the camera.

“There, that’s better,” you laughed casually, walking toward her, “Now it’s really just the two of us. No need to keep up the charade. I think we can finally be honest with each other.” You sat on the table next to her, far too close for her to remain comfortable.

She attempted to stand but you pushed her back down with heel of your boot, resting it on her shoulder to keep her in place. “Sit. Down.” You stared at her icily.

“You see I have a great respect for those who value their loved ones, who put their family first,” you could hear a dull bang on the door, no doubt Steve trying to get through. “And the Avengers, well, we’re like a family. We fight with each other, laugh, cry, all the things that families do.” You looked at her, ignoring the steady thumping on the door. “We also protect each other, and if one of our own gets hurt, we,” you released a humorless laugh, “We avenge them.”

Hearn was actually beginning to show some signs of alarm, vulnerability. 

“So, answer me carefully now. What is the safety of your two grandsons worth to you? What would you do to ensure that, say, they were not the unfortunate collateral damage in a gang related shooting? The media just loves it when innocent bystanders get caught up in ‘gang’ related violence. Such an injustice to be righted.” You stared, unblinkingly at her, “Now, where is your antidote for this Coyotillo?”

Of course, you would never harm a child and had no intention of going after her grandsons, but you were counting on Hearn not risking some hidden benevolence in you, even though she of all people should know about hidden depths.

She let out a panicked laugh, “Like I said, science has yet to develop an antidote. I’m afraid your threats will lead to naught. If one of your own has been hit with the poison, there’s nothing you can do to save them.” 

You analyzed her face for a moment, “I thought I told you to answer very carefully.” And with no warning, you jumped down from your position on the table, reached out and took hold of her head, and slammed it into the hard steel. It was just hard enough to break her nose, but not enough to knock her senseless. Her pained scream did nothing to evoke sympathy from you.

“I will ask you again, where it your antidote?”

“I don’t have one!” Blood was leaking out of her nose rapidly.

“No one creates a trap without an escape route lest they be caught in their own devices.” You slammed her head again, “Where is the antidote?!”

She sobbed tearlessly, wiping furiously at her nose.

“Shall I add your daughter’s name and your son-in-law’s name to the casualty list?” Your grip on her hair tightened. “Answer me!”

Just then the door to the room was ripped off its hinges, and a very pissed off Steve stood in the wreckage. You released her and held up your hand to him, begging for him to trust you.

In a voice only loud enough for her to hear, you growled, “You can’t save yourself, Doctor, but it’s not too late to save your family. Are they really worth all this? It’s over, you’re over. You’ll never see the light of day again, but you don’t have to condemn your family to the same fate.”

She looked up at you, weariness, pain, and anger coursing through her eyes. She wiped at the blood now coating her chin. She let out a defeated sigh, “It’s in a vault in the Milan base. Hidden behind a switchboard on the south wall of the east wing.” 

You pulled out a map of the base, giving her a pen, which she used to press a small shaky circle onto the paper.

You said quietly, “Thank you. But know that if you’re lying to me, I will come for your family, and that’s a promise I don’t intend to break.” You stalked out of the room as several UN agents flooded in followed by Masha, whose glare could have ignited you on the spot.

“Well?! Did you get what you came for, Y/N? Because when I get fired today, I want to know that it was at least worth it.” She barreled past you, tears in her eyes. The adrenaline from before began to fade and a gnawing guilt took its place. You would save Sam first, and then make this right with Masha. 

You could hear Steve angrily lecturing you, while Natasha regarded you with a newfound respect, but you heedlessly, snapped a photo of the map and sent it off to Tony, telling him the antidote was hidden there.

Steve’s lecture continued as the three of you were led out of the building and back to your car by security officers, but you didn’t hear any of it. Sam was finally, really going to be okay.

Little more than an hour later as you sat on the plane, somewhere above France, Steve having tired of threatening you, a message from Tony popped up on your phone.

> **Goatee:** The antidote is working. He’ll make a full recovery. Good job today.

You smiled, relief flooding your every sense as another message followed.

> **Goatee:** Also you’re on desk duty for the next 4 months and counselling twice a week. Enjoy pushing paper.

You couldn’t feel even slightly disappointed at your punishment. It was all worth it. But you did have a few difficult phone calls that now needed tending to, namely a call to the UN Ambassador herself. God, you hated groveling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so there was NO Sam in this. He’s just napping off in the background the whole time, but the antidote is working, so next part…. :D
> 
> Also, I have a degree in botany, and I think my nerd may have been showing here…Also also, I cite my sources! I used Amy Stewart’s Wicked Plants for the info on oleanders and Coyotillo. It’s a great little book, but if you are reading it in public people will ask you “So who are you poisoning?” thinking that they’re being SO clever.
> 
> * * *
> 
> * * *
> 
> Lol, maybe I’m being silly, but I’ve been thinking about authors’ responsibilities when it comes to the content they put out, especially with respect to violence. So I want to clear a few things up. You do not need to read this to understand the story or plot, but it may help.
> 
> * * *
> 
> So, what the reader did in this part while, I won’t lie felt like a justified use of force–she was emotionally compromised, wanted to protect someone whom she sees as family, and was being faced down by Hearn who appeared to have no remorse or concern for the wellbeing of those who got in the way of her research (Sam, the allusion to victims of the serum, etc.)–was clearly wrong.
> 
> Under no circumstances should violence–breaking Hearn’s nose–or threats of death–directed at Hearn’s twin grandsons, daughter, and son-in-law–of any sort be used on prisoners. Article 13 of the [Geneva Convention](http://www.un.org/en/genocideprevention/documents/atrocity-crimes/Doc.32_GC-III-EN.pdf) is pretty specific about that, and I know there are several other articles that deal with the health and safety of POWs. Sure, one could argue that she’s not technically a POW, but that’s not a slippery slope I’m willing to entertain (see [Abu Ghraib](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Abu_Ghraib_torture_and_prisoner_abuse), [Guantanamo Bay](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guantanamo_Bay_detention_camp#Conditions), etc). She is still a prisoner and should be treated as a human being, despite her actions, allegations, and crimes.
> 
> So why make the reader do those things? Other than the reasons I listed before, simply put, she’s far from perfect. Like all the other characters in the MCU, she’s done things, and may again do things, that are #Problematic. I didn’t want to create a character who is, or even seems to be, perfect. 
> 
> I feel like this reader suppresses a lot of emotion, especially in the last two parts, and she finally went Mt. St. Helen and blew her top. And yes, it was pretty destructive. She deliberately did something that could have gotten her not only kicked out of the Avengers but also some deep legal shit. Not only that but she betrayed her best friend’s trust.
> 
> But here’s the kick. She doesn’t feel regret (yet) for what she’s done, true, but she is taking responsibility for her actions and is already thinking about how she can make things right. These factors do not absolve her of her wrongs, but they also should not be overlooked.
> 
> * * *
> 
> This explanation got way longer than I had planned. But I’m a wordy bitch who likes to overthink literally every single thing in my life. Phew! I welcome any questions or concerns about literally anything.


	6. Part 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You deal with the repercussions of your ‘interrogation’ with Hearn.  
> Meanwhile, Sam finally wakes up, and even though you’re overjoyed at this, there is the small matter of that damned hat that needs to be cleared up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m being a plant nerd AGAIN. But there is so much Sam in this part, like almost all of it. Sam!! And fluff!! Also, when did this hat become such a pivotal plot element??

**Sam’s POV**

He could still hear his own shouts of “I’m hit! I’m hit!” echoing around his mind and the sound of the wind whipping through the peaks and the valleys. He could still smell the clear scent of the frost, the resinous perfume of the evergreen trees, the faint dusty odor of the rocks onto which he fell. But he was not lying on the hard edges of the earth. He was floating on something warm and supple. The sounds and smells of his memories were replaced by a low hum, a steady beeping, astringent cleaners, and soft florals.

His mouth was like a desert, and when he attempted to open it and speak, nothing but a broken croaking sound came forth. His legs tingled uncomfortably. When he finally peaked open one eye, he was met by the sight of Clint reaching for a plastic cup of ice cubes behind a tall vase of sunflowers. He weakly attempted to sit up as he began to take in his position and surroundings.

“Hey, whoa whoa there, man,” Clint called as he rushed over, setting the cup down on the bed’s tray table. “Here, let me get that.” He gently pushed Sam forward by his shoulders and added in a new pillow so that he could sit more upright.

“Didn’t know if you’d be able to drink yet, but here’s some ice you can suck on.” Clint handed Sam the cup, who took it with frail fingers, “Just don’t go swallowing and choking on them. The nurse stepped out, and I don’t wanna have to give you mouth-to-mouth.”

Sam was still disoriented but put at ease by Clint’s easy humor, who just sat next to him seemingly in no rush to talk.

When his throat was finally wetted enough to speak, Sam asked what had been bursting to get out, his voice still raspy from disuse, “What happened? Where am I? What’s…just what?”

Clint gave him a sympathetic smile, “I’ll just start from the beginning…” Sam listened attentively, occasionally asking for clarifications and elaborations, as Clint told him about the fall, about the poisoned bullets, his week-long coma, and about Masha’s help and your interrogation with Hearn.

“So yeah, your girlfriend is not going on any missions for some time.”

Sam nearly did swallow one of his ice cubes, “Uh, come again? Girlfriend? What’s that supposed to mean?” He felt a schoolboy panic dart through his gut, but he also couldn’t deny the way his heart leapt slightly at hearing you referred to as his girlfriend.

Clint just looked at him with a shit-eating grin, “Yeah, we’ve all known about since the mission started. No point trying to hide it.” He added as an afterthought, “Plus, she barely left your side all last week. She really needed a shower.”

Shaking his head at that last comment, Sam was stunned for a second. How could everyone know already? He and you hadn’t even had a proper conversation since that kiss. You didn’t seemed like the kiss-and-tell kind, but then again, if you and everyone else had thought he was actually dying, it might have slipped out in a moment of crisis. He figured it was best to play it cool, “Ok, not that I’m admitting anything, but what makes you think we’re an item.”

“Oh. Come. On. Look at who you’re talking to, _the_ Hawkeye…ok, I saw you two sucking face before we left. Sorry for interrupting that, by the way, but we really did need to get going.” He had the decency to at least look sheepish at his next words, “I may have then told Tony…in a group text to the rest of the team…”

Sam hung his head and laughed softly in defeat. Of course Clint had seen you both. After all, you both kissed right in the open in his doorway, and Clint was nothing if not observant. “Never any secrets around you fools.”

“Nah.”

Just then a rather huffy looking nurse came in followed by a doctor who looked less than pleased.

“How long has Mr. Wilson been conscious?”

Clint, standing and ready to make a beeline, stuttered out, “He’s, ah, it’s been, been a little while.” And with that he gave Sam an apologetic look as he slipped through the door.

In addition to noting all the data from the various monitors, the doctor tested Sam’s motor responses and reflexes, made him blow into a spirometer to test his lungs, pinched his toes with forceps to test his pain response, and administered a whole other slew of other tests. All of this was to ensure that his body was fully recovering, that the paralysis had been reversed, that they were right to have removed the breathing tube, and that there had been no damage from the fall obscured by his coma. The overall prognosis was good. So far as the doctor could tell, he would make a full recovery after some basic physical therapy.

Clint hadn’t told Sam about the breathing tube, and he couldn’t keep a small shiver from running down his spine when he reached up and felt the bandage that was covering several stitches on his throat. But despite this small shock, his mind was running with thoughts of you the whole time he was poked and prodded.

He had wanted to kiss you for months and months before the day you and he actually did. He felt lightheaded at the memory, or maybe that was just the after effects of the remaining barbiturates in his system and the need for a good meal.

As he let his mind drift he wondered how he had fallen so hard for you. He couldn’t be sure of the exact moment he realized his developing feelings for you, but if he had to put his finger on it, it probably would have been when he’d given you the hand-knitted hat for the holidays the previous year.

He could see the visceral shock on your face as you beheld the chartreuse monstrosity. You were one of the worst liars he knew, and this occasion confirmed that fact. You had a face that just screamed out the proof of your dishonesty. It had taken all his strength to keep from laughing at you as you oohed and aahed at the ragged bundle of yarn and thanked him for such a beautiful and thoughtful gift. And the fact that months and months later you would still occasionally wear the hat, in public no less, and continue to compliment it when he asked about it ceased to amaze and deeply amuse him.

Yeah, that must have been the moment when he knew, and he had been falling harder and harder for you ever since. And even though the last week had passed in the blink of an eye for him, he could still feel the previous two and half weeks of separation eating at him, and he was eager to see you.

Once the doctor had finished her examination and the nurse had drawn a fresh vial of blood, he was allowed to eat a small portion of brothy soup, something gentle on his stomach. He never saw the nurse come in to collect his bowl because the warm meal and the ordeal his body had endured lulled him into the first natural sleep he’d had in over a week.

* * *

“Yes, I will. Thank you again, Madam Ambassador.” 

You hung up your cell and let out a weary sigh. That had been the second hardest phone call you’d ever had to make. The hardest one was yet to come when you would call Masha to explain everything and beg for her forgiveness. But that call would need to wait until she had been given the space to calm down and process everything, and better yet, after the Ambassador had been given the opportunity to tell her how you had taken full blame and that no disciplinary action of any kind would be leveled against Masha by her office or by any office in the UK government. You may have willingly nominated yourself for the shit-friend of the year award earlier, but now you were doing everything to make this right.

You stretched and looked around the plane. Natasha had her feet tucked under her and was dozing in her seat, and Steve was still looking agitated in his, typing on his phone, no doubt texting with Tony. You couldn’t blame him for being angry with you for acting out like that, not entirely anyway—though you did find his anger a little ironic considering the lengths he had gone through to save his friend. You supposed that it was true that a guilty conscience makes one more aware of the matching faults of others. Perhaps you and he were actually feeling very similar things.

Regardless of all that, you had fucked up. Sure you had done some dumb stunts in your life before, but you had really outdone yourself here. But the real source of your guilt was that you didn’t feel all that guilty. Sure, you felt guilty for betraying Masha’s trust like that and putting your colleagues in a sticky spot. But you could not for the life of you feel bad about what you’d done to Hearn, and that was the most unsettling thought.

You had violated international laws, and you had at the very least skirted the spirit of the articles of the Geneva Convention, if not the letter of the law. But you didn’t care. Sam would still be in a coma if you hadn’t, might never have pulled through. The rational part of your brain recognized that ‘the ends justify the means’ was an ethically slippery slope, one that Hearn herself had doubtlessly used to justify her inhumane experiments in the past. But you felt what you felt. And what you felt was not regret. You had saved a dear friend, a member of your family, and someone whom you hoped would become infinitely more than all that. You had saved your Sam.

You just hoped that this explanation would be good enough for Masha to eventually forgive you.

* * *

You found yourself once again standing in front of Sam’s unconscious form. Only this time your heart was lighter and your outlook positive. His waxy complexion had melted away, and renewed color and brightness had returned to his face. His breathing tube and IV had been removed, and there were no humming machines to track his body’s functions. And while he certainly looked a bit thin, it was nothing that a few good meals and ass-kickings from Bucky couldn’t solve. He looked peaceful.

You had a hefty box in your hands that had been delivered to the hotel, where you’d just come from, having showered and eaten your first decent meal in a while. You carefully opened the flaps and removed the ceramic pot from the plastic bag that had been keeping the soil contained. It was blooming, just as the horticulturalist had promised it would be. You smiled widely as you positioned the plant on a table close enough to be seen, but not enough to be touched or smelled. Your special surprise for Sam.

You popped your iPod into the small speakers that Tony had left in the room and let the sounds of your favorite playlist softly fill the room as you settled down, determined to finally make a real dent in that book you’d been working on.

However, it wasn’t long before you heard the soft rustle of the sheets next to you.

“Welcome back, sunshine, or am I not allowed to call you that,” you smiled softly at him as he blinked his eyes and took stock of his surroundings and drank in the sight of you.

His gaze faltered when it reached your head, “You’re wearing my hat?”

“It reminded me of you, so yeah, I’ve been shamelessly wearing it everywhere.” You smugly smirked at him. “Although, I was professional enough not to wear this when we were in London yesterday.”

“Yeah, about that. I think I owe you, what? My life?” He looked sincere as he said this, the topic of the hat forgotten for the time being. He held out his hand, his open palm upturned.

But you brushed the comment off, “Pshaw, someone had to be the hero and save your ass.” You paused, your smile wavering somewhat, “But unfortunately, the British government didn’t see it that way. Can’t blame them though.” You took his hand, hesitant at first. During all that had happened, it had been easy to forget just how new this side of your relationship was, but now that you were facing him, who was now very much awake and aware, you found yourself faltering.

But when he closed his fingers around yours, his thumb softly tracing your knuckles, you felt a flutter course through your body, and your timidity lessened.

“Oof, so how bad did you get it?” He looked at you ruefully, “Clint mentioned that you were in some pretty deep shit.”

You widened your eyes in recognition, and you began to list off the repercussions of what you’d done, “Well, I’m banned from the UK except in cases of extreme and immediate danger to the country, which sucks because I’ve always wanted to see the Scottish highlands. Uhh, what else. I’m on suspension for a month, and desk duty for at least four months after that while I take appointments with one of the counsellors twice a week until I’m deemed fit for reinstatement. Steve cussed at me, that little shit. I mean, like he’s never broken international treaties before! Tony is actually changing my quinjet access to Irritable Blizzard Syndrome, like for real, no joke.”

Sam shook his head, laughing softly at that, “That smug bastard”

“But on a more serious note, I spoke to Masha when I was at the hotel earlier. She called me just to say that she will eventually forgive me, but that she needs some time to process. We’ll talk about this more in depth in a couple months when we both go back home to see our families for Thanksgiving. She’s mad at me and hurt. And really, I don’t blame her. I kinda fucked her over. Even if I have made things right with the Ambassador, this could have been devastating to her career.”

“From what you’ve told me about the two of you, you’ll get through this.” He held your hand firmly as he spoke.

You nodded, “Plus, I told her she could leak those photos of me streaking at a party back in college all over the internet…I think she might actually do that.” You grimaced at the hazy memory, “Can you imagine what the collective internet and media will do if nude photos of an Avenger get leaked?”

“Well…” he said as he arched a brow cheekily.

“Don’t be a perv, Sam,” you swatted him playfully with your free hand.

“I’m just sayin’, I think you and I are ready to take us to the next level.” He let the suggestion linger for a moment before adding, “You know, streaking buddies.”

You gulped down your nerves and decided to just go for it and not return with more banter. Flirt. Be alluring but not awkward. “Hmm, I was kinda hoping you meant something else there.”

If you hadn’t been staving off the imminent cardiac arrest at actually having gone through with that remark, you may have laughed out loud at the look of shock mixed with desire that came into his deep brown eyes.

“Have I ever told you that you drive me crazy?” He said, finally finding his words.

“Ha, no, but I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“Definitely.”

You looked down at your interwoven fingers. “So…” you began.

“So.” He repeated, looking expectant.

“Do you want to talk about this” you gestured between the two of you, “now? Or would you rather just work on getting better first?”

“No time like the present?” His umber eyes were boring into yours. Was it possible he could hear your heart beating?

All those anxieties and insecurities you’d talked about with Masha all those weeks ago while eating a hangover lunch had not gone away, even if they had been somewhat overshadowed by the more recent crisis.

“I’ll go first?” You asked, and he nodded, still holding your hand. “I’m not good with things unsaid, so I’d like to just lay my cards on the table. I really like you, Sam. You’re one of my best friends, and these past few weeks, the kiss notwithstanding, have made me realize that I want to be more than friends.” You took a deep breath, your eyes now firmly focused on one of the folds in his bedding.

“But we work together, and that kind of freaks me out because I’ve been there before. And if this, whatever this is, goes south, I don’t think I could handle another move, and you’ll probably start wearing puka shell and shark tooth necklaces and try to rediscover your artistic side on a Pacific Island. And that, well that’s too much. I can’t go through that all over again.”

Sam listened to you with an amused, albeit somewhat perplexed, look on his face. “So, you had me for the first few sentences, up until the possibility of this going south. Then, I’ll be honest, you kind of lost me. Puka shells?”

You rolled your eyes more at yourself than anything else, “I dated a coworker a few years before I joined the team, back when I was with the FBI, and it ended about as badly as is possible. We brought out the worst in each other, alienated several of our shared friends and colleagues, and my ex moved to Honolulu to do pottery while I moved to New York. Even though things have worked out in the long run, it really sucked for a while. I don’t think there’s been a lower point in my life,” you paused thoughtfully, “except for maybe my phone call with Masha this morning.” You let out your breath slowly, willing it to calm you down.

He thought your words over for a moment before speaking, “Well, how about this. I want to be more than friends too. That much should be obvious to you by now. And I know it sounds cliché, but I’m not your ex, and you’re not the same person now as you were then.” He lowered his head to meet your avoidant eyes, “And if this goes south, we’ll deal with that then and not now, but with the promise that we’ll be civil to each other and not drag anyone else into it.” He looked up, a joking glint in his eyes, and added as an afterthought, “And neither of us will appropriate puka shells or any other aspect of Hawaiian culture like some douchey dudebro. Yeah?”

You finally raised your eyes to his, feeling a lightness that went all the way to your core.

“I bring massages and great music to the table, and you just violated international laws for me. And I know how well you can cook.”

You grinned despite yourself, “You know, we should probably not bring up the whole ‘slammed a prisoner’s face into a steel table’ thing anymore. I don’t want to remind anyone that I should probably be punished worse.” He grimaced sheepishly. “Also, I hope you don’t think I’m the happy housewife sort who will cook for you at the drop of a hat.”

“I would never assume that about any woman, least of all you.” He took your other hand, “And we both know most of each other’s faults already too. I know that you’re very grouchy in the mornings even when you’re not hungover and that you cry when watching documentaries about lions and get really defensive about it.”

“Nature can be so cruel,” you chided.

“And you know that I’m so devilishly handsome that it’s dangerous and that I will always forget at least three things when packing for a mission or a trip.”

That cheeky bastard was pushing all the right buttons.

“So what d’you say. Want to give this a shot? Us?” He looked up at you with those big doe eyes, and you knew you were a goner.

“Oh hell yeah,” was all you could get out as you leant forward over the railing of his bed and pressed a kiss to his lips that you could feel all the way to your fingers and toes. As you both deepened the kiss, you both reached out hands, seeking the touch of the other. The kiss was tender, heartfelt, and eager. There was no clashing of lips or teeth, no tongues fighting for dominance. Instead, you both just relished in the taste and the feel of the other, the sensation of needing and being needed fueling you both on. 

You loved the feel of his beard, which had grown in a week of no upkeep and tickled your chin and your cheeks. He loved the one small breathy whimper that escaped your lips when his thumb stroked just behind your ear.

You and he finally broke the kiss when your position over the rail began to feel cramped and your mutual need for air became too much. You brushed your nose against his, resting your forehead on his while he gently stroked your arms.

He giggled though his nose lightly, and you hummed in question.

“I was just thinking about how nice it was to not be interrupted this time, and then that reminded me. Clint saw us kissing before I left, and he told,” he sighed, “everyone.”

You pulled back slightly, with a wry smile, “That snooping little shit. I guess I should’ve known something was up with the way Tony’s been teasing me about you for the past month.” You sat up still resting your hands on him, desperate for some kind of contact, perching yourself more comfortably on the railing.

As you sat up, Sam’s eyes caught a flash of salmon pink and his attention diverted away from you. “Hey, who brought me a cactus?” 

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing as you looked to the flower pot in question. In the small decorative pot was a small cactus-like plant with a single large star shaped bloom of salmon and burgundy.

“That would be me, but it’s not a cactus. It’s a [Stapelia](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1QhNgYhtQgEdUywMMyY_SlTMbAPXfAHdZ/view?usp=sharing).”

“If you’re expecting me to know what that means…?” He trailed off letting the question hang.

“I’ll get to that. But everyone’s been bringing you all these cut flowers, and I dunno. I guess I never understood the point of buying someone cut flowers. They’re just going to wilt and die in a week.” He raised a brow at you. “But I understand the cultural tradition of bringing flowers to someone who is sick, so there you go.”

“Thank you, my sunshine.” Your heart flip flopped, “Now bring it on over so that I can smell it.”

“Patience, I would like to first tell you a little bit about the plant, and I think you should humor me seeing as how my useless plant knowledge actually helped to break down some of Hearn’s walls in the interrogation, y’know, before more drastic measures were used.”

“I’m all ears.” Damn that smile would be the death of you.

“It’s a type of milkweed. I ordered it last week from a ma-and-pop store online that specializes in rare and interesting flora. This one isn’t all that rare, but it certainly is interesting. It’s renowned for its uniquely pungent flowers. I thought you might like to have something in your room that wasn’t lilies or roses and that might actually make it to next year if you let me help you.” You hoped your smile seemed thoughtful rather than devious as you picked up the pot from its resting place. “Here, breathe deeply through your nose so that you can pick up on the finer accents of the scent profile,” you said as you placed the pot on the tray table in front of him.

Sam took a moment to examine the showy flower before he lowered his nose to the bloom and inhaled deeply. In an instant, his serene face was changed to one of disgust as he ripped his face backward and yelled, “What the fuck? What? Shit what is that? Holy mother…Y/N?! What the hell? There’s something wrong with your flower!”

You were openly laughing now. “Oh Sam, there’s nothing wrong with it. I said it was renowned for its unique scent, I just failed to mention that the scent is rotting flesh with just a few hints of feces.”

The look on his face sent you into more peals of laughter, “It’s a carrion flower. It’s supposed to attract flies. That’s why it smells like an animal carcass.”

“Y/N, I, I am just trying to figure out why.” His face was drawn, and his eyes were narrowed at you.

“This,” you exclaimed accusatorily as you pulled his hat from your head, “This is why.”

His eyes widened with just a hint of recognition and guilt.

You pointed your index finger at him as you began, “I had a little chat with Bucky when he and I were in a bad place last week, and he tried to console me by telling me about this hat.” You looked at him with a knowing but amused look, “I think you know the story, but I’ll tell you what Bucky told me. Apparently, you learned to knit for the sole purpose of making me a hat. Apparently, you really did try, but it turned out bad, like supremely bad. And apparently, you decided to give it to me as a joke anyway. And I have spent almost a year pretending to like this because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Sam was stifling his own laughter at this point. “Sam, I wore this in public, on multiple occasions. People have taken pictures of me wearing this.”

He wiped a tear from his right eye, “Ok, I definitely deserved to smell that shit-flower. But oh man, Sunshine. Most people would just put salt in my coffee or something and not go to the effort of ordering stinky plants in ornate pots as payback, but you? You are nothing if not dedicated to the cause of petty revenge.”

You gave him an unimpressed smirk, “And?”

“Ok, yes. It was a joke. I just wanted to see if you’d pretend to like it or if you’d just break my spirit outright. I actually had another hat wrapped up in my room. Bought it from this sweet old lady on Etsy. Actually, it’s still wrapped on the top shelf of my closet, waiting for you. But you kept pretending that it was so well done and really soft and warm and…and I thought I might see how long you could go. Almost a year now?” He gave you a toothy grin that begged for forgiveness.

You shook your head unable to keep a straight face as you laughed out, “You’re such an ass, but I’d say a noseful of rotting flesh makes us even, almost,” you added narrowing your eyes.

“Almost? What else do I need to do?”

You leant forward, lips hovering above his, “You must promise me that you will love and cherish this stapelia, and,” your face softened, “Give me that other hat and never make me wear this again?”

His eyes looking at your lips, the corners of his tugging upward, he whispered, “Agreed.”

And with that he closed to gap, once again stealing your breath away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There yall go! So fluff, much romantic!! I’m going to write an epilogue that’ll be up within the week that will also be fluffy. Thanks again for sticking around this long, like literally, these chapters so fucking long? wtf?
> 
> Also, piece of trivia, that’s was actually a pic of my own stapelia that I took a few years back when a bloom opened. They really do smell awful…


	7. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As you prepare to return to active duty with the Avengers, you take some time to think about what led you to this moment, and you finally show Sam how much he really means to you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final part yall!! And there is so much fluff and sentimentality that it’s borderline disgusting. Also, I’ve linked “Sunshine on My Shoulders” by John Denver later in the text. You must listen to it when you get to that part!

Five months had passed since the Glasgow/Milan mission. 

To your knowledge, Maria Hill was still drinking the Irn-Bru energy drinks, despite their shady employee history. Hearn was still locked away in a British prison awaiting her trial, which had quickly become quite the media sensation when her criminal history was released to the public. Bucky and Tony had eventually returned to the edgy banter they used to have before the mission. Steve still gave you shit every now and then about heeding orders, which he would always follow up with a smug smirk that said he was just messing with you. Natasha was now your new sparring partner after it became clear that you and Sam just could not behave long enough to actually spar.

Meanwhile, you had spent one month doing fuck all during your suspension and the next four sitting at a desk, 9 to 5, five days a week. The monotony was only broken up by your bi-weekly visits with one of the several psychiatrists who served the Avengers and employees of Stark Industries. 

At first, you would have rather gone to the top floor of the tower and jumped than to sit and talk about your feelings with a complete stranger, which, as you then learned, was not a good way to introduce yourself to a psychiatrist. You then spent the majority of your first session lamely explaining that it was a joke, just an exaggeration, which only prompted her to ask why you would think joking about suicide was funny or appropriate. It only took about one more session for you to realize that you probably had some issues that needed to be dealt with, so you started leaning into your therapy.

Five months. It was hard to believe that your suspension was long over and now today, you were going to your last required therapy session before being signed off for active duty again. You were still going to keep appointments with your therapist once every one or two weeks as needed, but it would be by choice this time.

You stretched your stiff limbs as best as you could, a task that was complicated by the muscled arm pinning you to a warm chest. You knew your alarm was set to go off at any moment, so you gently pried yourself free from Sam’s grip, a low disappointed groan rumbling in his chest, and turned off the alarm so as not to disturb him further.

The darkness of the room was oppressive as you felt around on the ground for your pajamas that had been quickly discarded the previous night, slipping them on quietly. You were all nerves this morning as you softly padded out of Sam’s room to go make coffee in the kitchen. You knew you were going to be signed off for duty today, your therapist had already told you as much in no uncertain terms, but you felt wired nonetheless. You sipped on your coffee in the cold, dark kitchen, relishing in the stillness of the pre-dawn hour when your phone lit up with a text from Masha. You were filled with a warm content and grateful for the momentary distraction.

> Sister: Hey, good luck today. You’ll be fine.  
>  I’m so happy for you. Truly.

You quickly typed out a thank you, before letting the solitude take your mind back to Thanksgiving a couple months ago, when as she had promised, you both met in person for the first time since the interrogation in London. The day after Thanksgiving, you and she had a conversation that ranged from yelling at each other to consoling each other to crying on each other’s shoulders. You and she always were and always would be sisters, and you made up. Phone calls had been short at first, but after a just a couple weeks, you and she fell back into your old ways, chatting for hours one or two times a week. You knew she would not forget this slight, how could she after all, but you also knew that you were forgiven, which was all that you needed.

The sound of feet shuffling softly on the carpeted hallway brought you back to the present, and soon Sam’s figure appeared in the kitchen, one hand rubbing at his eyes while the other arm was stretched high in the air, causing his shirt to lift up over his sweatpants. You unabashedly stared at that small sliver of exposed skin.

“See somethin’ you like?” He smiled sleepily, his voice still groggy.

“Every time I look at you,” you grinned into your mug.

“Aw, how do you always know exactly what to say?” He practically cooed as he poured himself a mug.

“I just speak the truth.”

He leant down, lips pursed to give you a kiss, but you put your hands up to your face, forming a protective shield.

“No, you have morning breath, get away!” You whisper screamed at him.

He set his mug down, and pulled your hands away, “Well you’ve got coffee breath, so we’re even.” And he kissed you anyway, and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

In fact, kissing him was probably your favorite thing to do with him. Well, there were also his life changing massages. And of course, sex with him was beyond phenomenal, to the point that knew other men would be forever ruined for you. And then there were also just the lazy evenings when you and he would lay around reading, watching TV, watching him try to knit, laughing at his uneven and skipped stitches, apologizing for mocking his developing kitting skills, and spending the rest of the evening making it up to him in increasingly creative ways. Maybe it wasn’t just the kissing that was your favorite. Sam was the least common denominator in all your new favorite activities.

“You still in there?” Sam was waving his hand in front of you.

“What, yeah, just got lost in my thoughts,” you muttered out, capturing his waving hand in your own, “Were you saying something?”

“Yeah, I was asking if you wanted breakfast.” His fingers were gently scratching at your palms, sending a pleasant tingle up your arms, “I myself am starving, and, well, this is your big day, Sunshine. A good meal is just what you need.”

You would never get tired of hearing him call you that, “I think I’m craving…an omelette?”

“Creature of habit,” he smirked and shook his head at you, pulling you up from your seat.

While you prepared the eggs and readied the fry pan, Sam chopped the filling and grated some swiss cheese. You and he were standing so close that your arms were touching almost the whole time, and you enjoyed the close comfort of the shared domestic task.

You both ate, side by side, occasionally looking up from your phones to nudge a shoulder or gently pat the other on the leg. Your mind often wandered to him, and you marveled at how lucky you were to have him.

Finally, the morning sun came, and you were standing in front of your full length mirror, examining every detail of your work outfit, from the color and cut, to the stitching on the hems and buttons. You would not only be signed off with your therapist today, but you would also be meeting with Nick Fury and several other higher ups in charge of the Avengers. You quickly discarded your pastel blue blouse in favor of something darker…and more forgiving of nervous sweat stains.

A knock on your door preceded the sound of it opening as Sam peered into your room, “Can I come in?”

“Yeah, but shut the door! I’m changing,” you called out from your closet, soon stepping out in your fresh outfit.

“Wha’d’ya think? Does this say ‘I’m a professional and I promise not use force on a prisoner again unless dire need calls for it please let me be back on active duty’?” You gave him a turn and put your hands on your hips, waiting for his response.

“Well, considering that was all just a bunch of nervous nonsense,” he walked up to you and gently gripped your shoulders. “I’ll just say that you look great Sunshine, and you’re gonna do fine today. This is all just a bunch of formalities.”

“I know,” you leaned into his embrace and sighed like your life depended on it. “But I’m beyond nervous, and I have no idea why.”

“Look, I’m no psychiatrist, but I did do a lot of counselling for the VA as you know. My take? I think you’re doubting yourself, doubting that you’re actually ready to get back in the field. Hmm?” He released one hand from your shoulder to tuck his finger under your chin. “But you are ready. Got it? Just take today one hour at a time.”

“Right, one hour at a time. In the next hour, I need to report to my soon-to-be former supervisor. That’s all.”

“Well get going then. See you back here this evening. Tony’s got a bunch of champagne chilling for the celebration, so if one hour at a time fails, just think of expensive French bubbly to give you strength.”

“Sam, just hug me,” you whined. Okay, maybe you were exaggerating that whine, but you didn’t care because soon you were wrapped in his arms, and you practically melted into his touch.

* * *

Throughout the day, you kept a running mantra of _One hour at a time; think of the bubbly. One hour at a time; think of the bubbly_. And even though the clock ticked by at an alarmingly slow rate, the mantra actually worked, in that it kept your mind from deviating to thoughts of self-doubt and other such anxieties.

Finally, at four o’clock, you had your last required therapy session. The hour flew by as therapy sessions sometimes do. And before you knew it, she was signing her name right next to yours and stamping her seal below.

“I’ll have my assistant copy and scan these and send print and digital copies to you, Mr. Stark, Director Fury, and all relevant parties.” She said, smiling at you, but maintaining a professional distance from you, “And, Y/N, I know you may think this is patronizing, but I’m going to say it anyway. I’m so very proud of you right now. You’ve come such a long way these past few months.”

You felt like the Grinch at the end of the story when his heart swelled in size, but you kept your cool.

“Thanks, doc. I honestly cannot thank you enough for, for, well, everything,” You held out your hand to shake hers, “I’ll see you in two weeks.”

And just like that you headed for the elevators that would take you to the floor where Fury’s office was located.

The next hour and half felt like you were interviewing for your own job. Fury and the other directors did not hold back when it came to their line of questioning, but you understood why they were grilling you so intensely. You had made yourself a liability five months ago, and they had to be sure that they were right in reinstating you to active duty. You were very grateful you’d opted with the darker blouse.

After the agonizing interview was done, you found yourself shaking hands with Nick Fury for the second time in your life, the first having been when you joined the Avengers several years ago. Fury, you mused to yourself, what an apt name.

You felt stunned as you rode the quiet elevator back to the residential floor. You were back. You were reinstated. You could go on missions again. You could go back to loudly complaining about paperwork since it would no longer be the sole purpose of your job as it had been for the last four months. You were an Avenger again. Of course, you’d hit one strike out of three, but you would not be making the same mistakes again. You were really and truly back.

No sooner had the elevator doors opened than you were met by slurred congratulatory shouts and broken applause. Steve and Bucky, with their super-soldier metabolism seemed to be the only two sober people of the lot.

“I see you all started without me.”

Sam’s giddy drunk tone broke through the hum of voices in the kitchen and common area, “Sunshine, you were supposed to be back half an hour ago. We had to start.”

“How are any of you this drunk after thirty minutes? Ya bunch of lightweights.” You grinned, not even caring in the least that they were ahead of you, as you walked over to the table and picked up a half-full bottle of champagne by the neck and drained the bottle of every last drop in one go.

Sam was staring at you, open-mouthed, while the rest of the team whooped and then finally managed to cheer out an almost coherent ‘congratulations, Y/N!’

After everyone had hugged you or patted you on the back, you excused yourself to your room for just a moment to change into a comfier outfit, preferably one with an elastic waistband. And Sam, naturally, followed you.

“Hey, if you two are not back in five minutes, I’m coming in with my phone set to record video,” Tony called at your retreating backs.

You flipped him off and laughed, finally feeling the champagne, “I will break your phone without remorse, you perv.”

Finally alone in your room, your progress in changing was impeded by one of Sam’s crushing hugs from behind as he buried his face into the crook of your neck. Clearly they had started drinking before breaking into the bubbly, and clearly they had started before five o’clock.

“Sam, babe, I can’t very well change with you connected to my torso,” you whispered into his ear.

“I know, I just,” he mumbled into the skin of your neck, “Ilvphyew.”

What had he just said? He was mumbling, so you couldn’t, wouldn’t be sure. It must have been the champagne playing tricks on your ears and mind. You prized his grip loose, turning to face him.

“Sam, I know you’re a bit drunk,” he wouldn’t meet your eye line, “but what did you say?”

He reached out to grip your waist, his forehead coming to rest on yours as he gently bumped your nose. You loved it when he did that.

“Sam?” You hoped your voiced sounded as tender as you meant it to.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, and took another before speaking, his words still just a bit blurred, “I haven’t said this yet because you’ve been in some pretty intense therapy, and y’know, you might’a been emotionally vulnerable.” Another deep breath, “A/N, Sunshine, I love you. I’ve been in love with you even before we kissed that first time. You don’t need to say it back if you’re not ready, but I—”

You didn’t let him continue his rambling self-doubt, but instead cut him off, your lips crashing onto his. He was caught off guard but quickly returned your kiss with fervor. Desperation tinged every movement your lips made. You needed to feel him, all of him. Your lips were soon gliding down his chin, nipping him gently every so often while his hands made their way under your blouse, savoring the feel of your bare skin under his fingertips.

You finally pulled away, “I love you, Sam. I never said it before because I’m chicken shit, but I love you. I have loved you. I can’t believe I’m only just now telling you.”

His eyes practically shimmered in the soft lighting of the room, his dark irises reflecting every spark of light around you. You let yourself get lost in his eyes as you so often did.

“Well aren’t we the bravest heroes in the land,” he laughed softly. His hands took up their former exploration as he leant down to kiss along your jaw, behind your ear, down your neck, just above your collarbone. You could feel desire tickling and taunting every nerve in your body.

BAM! The door swung open and Tony loudly called out, “Aha, caught you trying some hanky-panky when we’re supposed to be partying.”

Without skipping a beat, you and Sam turned to him and shouted out in unison, “GET OUT!”

Tony, sensing the dangerous nature of his position, promptly closed the door, but called through it, “Well at least make it quick! Or we’re drinking all that champagne without you.” The faint sound of laughter and wolf whistles could be heard all the way from the common room.

“Argh,” you groaned pulling yourself into Sam’s chest. “Well at least he was decent enough to not actually come in with his camera like he said would.”

“That smug bastard,” Sam chided lovingly, “Well, you know I like to take my time, so how about let’s get you changed, and we head back to the party, huh? We can pick this up later tonight.” He arched one brow suggestively.

“You flirt,” you tutted at him as you nodded and slipped from his embrace, quickly discarding your stiff and fitted work clothes for a loose sweater and pair of thick leggings.

“Is this decent enough for a night in?” You asked, giving Sam a twirl as you had done that morning.

“Sunshine, you look good no matter what you’re wearing.”

You beamed at him, “Correct answer.”

“Ready?”

In truth, you weren’t quite ready to return to the others. Maybe it was the champagne or maybe it was the high that Sam’s ‘I love you’ had given you, but you suddenly felt clingy and wanted nothing more than to wrap yourself in him.

Sam must have been able to read your expression like a book, and as always, he knew just what to do. “Friday,” he called to the ceiling, “Can you play [‘Sunshine on My Shoulders’](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=diwuu_r6GJE)? Original version please.”

“Of course, Sam,” came her lilting reply as the sounds of the old record scratches and a soft guitar trickled from the speakers on your desk.

He opened his arms in invitation, and you gladly slid into his embrace.

You and he weren’t so much dancing as you were just hugging and swaying. You rested your head on his chest and could just make out the low thump-thump of his heart over the music.

“Have I ever told you that I downloaded this song the day you first sang it to me and listened to on repeat for like that whole month?” You kept your voice low, not wanting to disturb the serenity of the moment.

Sam pulled back slightly and gave you a quizzical look before taking you back into his arms, “Never figured you to be the sentimental sort.” Sam whispered over the music.

“Oh please,” you mumbled, “I wore that fucking hat for almost a year, and when you were in the hospital, I only took it off long enough to shower and get myself suspended. If _that’s_ not sentimental…”

He tightened his arms around you no doubt feeling the weight of the memory. You held him right back.

You could never have imagined being in this moment months and months ago. Old you might have cautioned you against dating Sam, someone with whom you lived, with whom you worked. But current you couldn’t believe you’d held back from him for so many years. In fact, had it not been for that wild night out with Masha and the Drambuie fueled hangover from hell, you might still just be friends with Sam. Who said hangovers couldn’t have a bright side?

The last strum of the guitar and the fading of the soft violins announced the end of the song, and your gently swaying bodies stilled. He and you stood there still enveloped in each other’s warmth. You didn’t want to feel the sting of the cold air if you stepped away from Sam.

“Friday? Can you replay the song?”

“Of course,” she replied.

Party and champagne be damned; you wanted to stay in this moment forever.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe it’s OVER!! I just want to say thank you to every single one of you here and on Tumblr for reading, liking, reblogging, and/or commenting on this story. Your support and messages have meant the absolute world to me, and I could not have finished this without yall’s love to keep me going. Thank you!!


End file.
